


Hear You Me

by itsallaboutzarry



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Baker Harry, Death of minor characters, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Parents to Lovers, Kid Fic, Life As We Know It AU, M/M, New Parents, Slow Burn, Tattoo Artist Zayn, baby Shelly - Freeform, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutzarry/pseuds/itsallaboutzarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the one where Harry and Zayn get appointed as guardians to their late best friend's daughter, and their lives turn upside down accordingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenandgolden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenandgolden/gifts).



> The title is from Jimmy Eat World’s song Hear You Me, which I listened to religiously while writing this. Also, most of the plot was taken from the movie, but I changed a couple of things around, so if you’ve watched Life As We Know It, it won’t ruin anything major for you.  
> Thank you to the mods that organised this and to YourNewBeloved for your great prompts – I had such a difficult time choosing just one. Also, thank you to that one friend who read this over for me, even though he's got nothing to do with this fandom.  
> And, to emphasize, the plot of this story follows the plot of Life As We Know It. All the similarities are intentional and I'm not claiming them as my own in any way.  
> I hope you like it!

They will never forget this day.

Harry won’t forget how the heat woke him up, humidity sticking to the back of his neck during the night, curling the ends of his hair and frizzing the rest. There was traffic he had to crawl through on his way to work, which meant people were already standing in front of his bakery when he got there still a good five minutes early. Harry felt good, somewhat proud and somewhat accomplished, like he did every morning when he flipped the door sign to _open_. He poured the people their coffees and wrapped their croissants. Harry made sure Niall’s coffee was just the way he liked it.

Even if it was just another morning of winking prettily at Niall and asking about his day alongside a complimentary chocolate oatmeal cookie, of flirting easily and exchanging small talk until Lily showed up and went to the back to start her shift – like every day always begins for Harry – he’ll remember every little detail of it. How Niall ducked his head down before he actually turned around, like he had something else to say besides what the weather forecast is for the day, but he couldn’t quite work up to it. And how there was a big crease right in the middle of his otherwise pressed shirt. Lily’s pick of the day’s hair style – a twisty bun that Harry planned to, but then didn’t recreate later when he got home. From how the sun woke him up in the morning, to every customer he served, every coffee he poured. The consistent ring of the bell above the door is something Harry won’t be able to forget.

The heat will imprint on their skin, like a too warm hand at the small of your back, leading you through the memories you’ll try to supress. How humidity made its way into every breath they took. April 2 – too early for the sun to be so blinding, so high in the sky as it was.

They’ll remember the day from the moment they sat up in bed, to the moment they rested their heads on foreign pillows, either too soft or too rough. Pillows that will leave unwanted creases in their cheeks, sheets that wrap the scent of a different time around their skin, of the past – of the people they’ll never see again.

They’ll remember April 2, how it felt to lie motionless in bed for hours, red rimmed eyes open and hearts stressing with every beat, until it was late enough in the morning to reemerge in the kitchen, pretending to have just woken up. Harry won’t be able to forget how lost and disbelieving Zayn’s eyes looked, his swollen lip stuck between his teeth, jittery fingers and the frazzled state of his hair. Like nothing at all had happened during the night, the same expression lingered on Zayn’s face with maybe a couple more wrinkles around his eyes and a cold cup of coffee in his hands when Harry walked into the kitchen. Harry’s never seen Zayn this early in the morning before, face puffy and slow blinks, barely able to stay awake at the kitchen table. The kitchen table they’ve both spent countless Friday night’s at, eating this or that dish Liam made for them while Louis got sloppy drunk on Rosé.

Zayn’s a sight for barely seven in the morning, but Harry can’t let go of the empty sound of the house, how every step Harry made last night echoed into the silence and beyond, through the painted walls and down the block, until he collapsed at the top of the staircase and listened – just listened for any sound, any sign that would tell him it was all a dream.

“Good morning,” Harry rasps and almost winces at the sound of his own voice. Zayn doesn’t respond though, doesn’t hear him as he holds the cup and stares at the table in front of him like it has secrets to share, like he’s looking at a ghost.

Harry clears his throat and tries again with a louder, “Morning,” which does the trick.

Zayn shakes out of his thoughts. “Oh, you’re up. Morning,” he says all jumbled into one messy word.

“How did you sleep?” Harry asks over his shoulder, because his first priority is coffee. And a lot of it. He’d kill for a chocolate croissant, or no, he definitely would not kill for anything ever again. But it would make him feel better.

“I didn’t,” Zayn answers from behind him.

“Me neither.” It felt strange, to lie on a bed in a guest bedroom that’s in a house that doesn’t belong to anyone anymore. Harry wondered if it’s just a bedroom then, just a bed in a room that lost its owners last night. Sleeping felt strange, wrong in a way, to close his eyes and rest at a time like this. A time that came too soon for everyone.

“What do we do now?”

Harry turns around with a cup full of cold stale coffee that tastes like it sounds, but it’ll do for now. He’s making his way to the bottom of the mug when he turns and sees the look on Zayn’s face: confused, scared and still so lost.

“Well,” Harry tries his best to come off as at least a bit more put together. “The lawyer should give us a call soon. Until then… We wait, I guess.”

Zayn’s nodding his head, understanding, knowing that there isn’t anything they can do right now except for exactly this, but he’s still frowning. “What about,” Zayn asks, looks up and blinks once. He doesn’t have to finish for Harry to understand, but he does. And Harry doesn’t stop him, because maybe Zayn needs to feel useful or maybe Harry just needs another second before he has to answer. “What about Shelly?”

Another second passes before Harry can say, “Child protective services.”

“What does that mean? She’s in an office somewhere?”

“In foster care, just for tonight.”

Zayn shrugs. “And then? What happens after today?”

It would be so easy for Harry to smash his fist on the counter and scream that he doesn’t know, that he has no idea, that he’s just as clueless as Zayn is. He could do it so easily that the thought clouds over his eyes before Harry can blink it away. But he does. He has to.

“I don’t know, Zayn. We have to talk to the lawyer.”

“And he knows? He’ll tell us?”

Harry breathes out a narrow stream of air. “He knows. He’ll tell us.”

“Okay,” Zayn nods, like it’s all he can do, before he goes back to hearing the secrets, to looking at the ghost.

It’s odd, to have a day imprinted into your memory like this, so forcefully, so fast. Yesterday, Harry was taking a relaxing bath, the lavender salts dissolving underneath him, the vanilla candles burning all around him and sending warm shadows to the tiled walls and floors. It was a lovely bath, a relaxing treat after a busy day at the bakery, and before Harry could pour in the bubbling soap, his phone rang and it wasn’t as lovely anymore, as relaxing.

They’ll remember this day forever, but not just the clothes they were wearing, not because it was unusually hot for early spring or because it was the day Harry and Zayn lost their best friends. But because Derek, Louis and Liam’s lawyer, explained to them, with an infinity of patience and grace that from today on, April 2, 2016, Harry and Zayn are officially Shelly’s guardians. Guardians of a one year old beautiful girl who lost both of her parents last night, in a tragic car accident that Harry still has trouble wrapping his head around.

Guardians with an option to say no, as Derek repeated seven times, because it’s a child, it’s a commitment for the rest of their lives, no backing out once they say yes, once they agree. But it’s there, it’s an option. It’s a way to give Shelly a good life, the best life, the life she was supposed to have. Or at least they have the option to try.

“If you do say no, we have other options lined up.”

Harry’s been wringing his hands for the past twenty minutes. If he keeps it up, he’ll end up with his fingers twisted around, but right now, as Zayn clears his throat and opens his mouth to talk, Harry’s feeling very indifferent to the state of his fingers.

“And, um, what are these other options?”

“Zayn,” Harry means to whisper, but he doesn’t quite succeed. “Are you serious?”

Derek is looking at them with too much pity for Harry’s liking. But Zayn just shrugs, and whether it means a yes a no or a maybe, Harry’s about two seconds away from twisting his fingers off.

“One of the options,” Derek interrupts their staring contest. “Is Liam’s dad.”

“No, absolutely not. I will not allow an eighty year old man to raise an infant when neither of them can make it up a flight of stairs,” Harry chastised, but it’s Derek he’s aiming at this time. “It’ll give Shelly a good home for what? Five, maybe ten years if I’m being very optimistic here and then what? Off to the next relative? A cousin? An aunt?”

“They didn’t get along with most of their family,” Zayn adds underneath his breath.

“Well,” Harry starts. He sits up straighter and crosses his fingers on the table in front of him. He’s thought about this, talking it over with himself last night, because it’s an option. It could work, it could definitely work. “What if we were to hypothetically honor Louis’ and Liam’s wishes on our own? Hypothetically?

“Um,” Zayn cuts off Derek and raises his finger towards him just to really shut him up. “ _Hypothetically_ , what if we _both_ honored their wishes?”

“Do you think this is the right time for a fight, Zayn? Really?” Harry crosses his arms and tries his best to not stick out his tongue. He’s definitely the more mature out of the both of them.

“Look,” Derek stops Zayn from saying anything else. He doesn’t look as patient anymore. “Whatever you decide to do, whether together or separately–”

“Together,” Zayn interjects.

“Oh god, would you let the man finish?”

“Fine, fine,” Zayn raises his hands. “Go on.”

Harry thinks he recognized the breathing exercises Derek’s trying to do. “The best thing for Shelly would be if you two moved in here for the time being. Just to not disturb her life even more.”

“The both of us?” Harry asks, his mouth not closing properly.

“Together?” Zayn adds. It’s the first good thing he’s said all day.

“Yes, both of you together in this house. With Shelly. It would be for the best.”

—————

Harry’s leg won’t stay still.

They don’t need the both of them to sign the papers, just one signature will do to bring in Shelly and let Harry hold her. Just one, so Harry can keep his leg jumping up and down, up and down, like he has a damaged nerve, as he looks at Zayn listen and nod to the lady, giving a quick and shaky Hancock on the dotted line at the bottom.

They went over the papers before, as soon as they came in, because neither Harry nor Zayn wanted to prolong the process by a single second. By signing they agree to be Shelly’s guardians. They agree to take care of her, to put her first. When they sign, they’re agreeing to let their lives be about Shelly from now on. Nothing and no one but Shelly, for at least the next seventeen years. Even if the day Harry lets her out of his arms will also be his last. But sure, at least the next seventeen.

The moment goes by in slow motion. Zayn hands the pen to the lady and goes to lean back in the chair as the door handle lowers. It takes an eternity for them to open and another eternity for a woman to step inside with Shelly in her arms, in a pink and yellow onesie, gripping her blouse.

She looks like she hasn’t slept much either, her eyes droopy and red rimmed just enough for Harry to have to stifle a whine. They’re all so tired, too tired to get emotional when Zayn stands up and goes to take Shelly in his arms, because Harry’s leg is still jumping, up and down up and down. Harry walks over to them after he’s calm enough to not grin in Shelly’s face or just sob like a madman. He comes to stand behind Zayn’s back to ruffle Shelly’s hair. She giggles quietly and before they have a chance to do something stupid, like upset her in front of the social service ladies, Zayn and Harry take Shelly home.

The first thing they do is put Shelly down and fall onto the couch with equally heavy sighs.

They stay like that for five minutes. Five minutes they’re able to stay still and silent – Harry knows moments like this will be few and far from now on, so he wants to lie back on the couch in perfect peacefulness, but it isn’t more than five minutes until Zayn groans that he needs a beer.

Harry wants to say something about it, he wants to say, “Really, a beer? Even if you have Shelly now?” but he doesn’t, because a glass of wine does sound amazing right about now.

To keep himself in the quiet bubble while Shelly naps, Harry picks up a book titled “Mommy and Me” that’s lying on the coffee table in front of his feet. It’s absolutely scintillating.

Zayn plops onto the armchair somewhere between _What to expect when breastfeeding_ and _Teach me how to walk_. It’s so strange, this day – the day that’ll remain somewhere in their memories longer than others. It’s strange to see Zayn sitting so comfortably next to Harry while he sips on his beer. Harry’s never been with Zayn like this, so still and calm. Because they never got along, they bickered and fought, took separate cars _just because_ and couldn’t even stand next to each other at Louis’ and Liam’s weeding for the photo. Zayn kept poking at Harry’s back, even went as far as slapping his ass right when the photographer said ‘Cheese’.

Harry couldn’t have imagined this happening, not now not ever. If he’d have to predict the future, the last thing he would have said would be that someday along the line, he and Zayn would be able to be so quiet together.

So Harry shakes his head and refuses to let the silence grow too heavy.

“We need to establish a sleep schedule?” Harry isn’t sure when he says it, because the book seems seriously undecided about spontaneous naps.

“What?” Zayn shakes his head and it’s like it only took half his beer to make him forget that Harry was here too.

“Well, apparently, a sleeping schedule is important,” Harry says decidedly, because yes, it is, it should be. Probably.

Zayn doesn’t stop shaking his head though. He keeps his eyes on Harry’s for a second more before he takes another sip and looks down at his lap. “They didn’t think this through,” he mumbles, and it’s not that Harry doesn’t hear it, he simply chooses to ignore it.

“I mean, I guess it’s important,” Harry backtracks, because this paragraph is again stating something completely different. “We could try it and if it doesn’t work then we can just –”

“Harry!”

“What?” Harry twitches. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Zayn sighs, like repeating himself is such an inconvenience, when it’s not even the biggest one of the day. “They didn’t think this through. Did Louis tell you anything? Or Liam? Because they didn’t tell me anything about this.”

“No, no they didn’t.” Harry would remember it. He would’ve thrown a party, would’ve made Christmas cards or something to announce it to the world. This kind of thing wouldn’t just slip out of his memory.

“Well, I don’t get it. This is _not_ the kind of thing you just forget to mention. ‘Hey Z, did you see my new hand tattoo? Oh, and by the way, if I die, I’m gonna leave you with my kid.’ It’s fucked up.”

It’s not like Harry to agree with Zayn. And Zayn has never talked this much with Harry, ever, not even when they were forced to hang out. This whole situation goes against everything they stand for, which is to stay away from each other, as far away as is humanly possible, not to have a heart to heart like this. But, even if Harry would love to leave any room Zayn walks into, he can’t anymore. Besides, he does actually agree with him, for the first time since they’ve met a far five or six years ago. This is fucked up.

 “Look, Liam was a planner, right?” Harry tries to rationalize. “So we are a part of his plan.”

“I know.” Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and his expression shifts. “I know Liam was a planner, he was _my_ best friend remember? I know… I know he _was_ a planner.”

Harry can feel how his whole body deflates with Zayn’s words, like a balloon wheezing out all its air with a whoosh, flying towards the ceiling. He doesn’t know what to say now that Zayn’s looking at him, waiting for a response that Harry can’t give him, because their best friends died, they just… One day, Harry was planning a picnic with Shelly and Louis, and the next, he’s supposed to live in their lives and carry on as if nothing has happened. Like Shelly doesn’t remind him of Louis or like it’s normal that he’s supposed to mourn his loss and raise a child at the same time. It’s not, Harry’s pretty sure it’s not normal.

When Zayn hasn’t made a move yet, or even blinked, just staring blankly at something behind Harry’s shoulder, Harry crosses his legs and sighs, thinks about what he can say here. “Zayn–”

He’s interrupted by Zayn’s hand, sufficiently shushing Harry. It takes a minute of complete silence, of Harry twisting his fingers together and biting his lip for Zayn to deflate a little too.

Narrowing his eyes, Zayn looks suspicious now, but Harry thinks anything is better than that vacant stare, the one Harry has when he’s lying in bed late at night. “Okay, so do you want to talk me through this plan?” Zayn takes another sip, his eyes heated up, his mouth on a roll. “Are we actually supposed to live in this house together? Share this place? Forever? Because that sounds like a crazy psyche experiment that personally, I don’t want to be a part of. Assuming you and I can even afford to pay for this place.”

“The lawyer said, the mortgage is covered.”

“Okay, well what about taxes or the utilities? Do you have any idea how expensive a house like this is? Liam was a fucking junior partner at a _law firm_. I don’t make that kind of money. And what do you do?” Zayn huffs. “You make cupcakes for a living.”

“Um, excuse you. I run a successful business, Zayn. And I do pretty well for myself actually.”

“Yeah, well, running a baby is nothing like running a bakery.”

Now Harry’s getting angry. Who is Zayn to complain about Harry’s job like that? About his life, the thing he’s immensely proud of? “I _didn’t_ say that.”

“Babies are messy, Harry,” Zayn shoots out, like Harry doesn’t know that. Like people who know anything about babies don’t know that. “They pee on things. They bite. They’re basically dogs, except at least dogs know not to lick the electrical sockets.”

Harry’s fingers clench, his jaw locks and he can feel how his whole body is just about ready to jump. There’s a line, a concrete line drawn onto the ground and Zayn’s stomped all over it, kicking at it and mocking it and spitting on it, and Harry wants to kick and spit back.

Harry moves to sit on the edge of the couch as he points a finger at Zayn, an angry, deserving finger. “ _You_ will not speak about Shelly like that. Not now and not ever again.” Harry doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t make a point to look menacing, but Zayn still cowers. With his shoulders hunched and his beer bottle empty, Zayn looks like a wet dog. Wanting to use this moment to its fullest potential, Harry says, “If you want a dog instead of a baby, there’s the door,” for emphasis. “No one’s making you stay. No one said they needed or wanted you here.” Harry knows it’s enough, that Zayn’s got the point, that he understands now, but Harry never has someone’s attention like this. So in the heat of the moment, he says, “If you want to leave, then leave.”

Zayn blinks. It’s like he’s been stuck for the duration of Harry’s little speech and it does absolutely nothing to make Harry feel bad. Zayn had it coming. He deserved every word. He needed to hear the truth, because Shelly doesn’t need Zayn, not if Harry’s here and he is, fully, completely, for the rest of her life, Harry is going to be here for her. Zayn might’ve signed the papers, but Harry’s the one that made a promise to himself in that office. Shelly comes first, no matter what, no matter who compares her to a dog. It doesn’t matter.

Another blink, and a cry sounds from the living room, truly breaking Zayn’s stupor.

Harry groans and, because he can’t help himself, he sends Zayn a stare he didn’t think himself possible of, with, “And now you woke her up,” added under his breath. He knows Zayn isn’t the fault, that if anyone should be blamed it’s him, but he knows it’ll sting. And by the look on Zayn’s face, it does.

Rushing to the playpen, Harry stops in front of it with the brightest of smiles on his face, cooing “Hi honey. Hi.”

“Hey sleepyhead,” Zayn sounds extra sweet, as he makes his way to the playpen. “Come here.”

“No no no, don’t pick her up.”

“What, why not?” Zayn practically jumps away.

“Because she needs to self-soothe. It’s really important.”

“She needs to what?”

“ _Self-soothe_. Soothe herself,” Harry explains while he keeps smiling down at Shelly who really isn’t soothing anyone. “I just read about it Zayn, it’s really important. Let’s just give her a minute.”

“Okay?” But Zayn doesn’t sound convinced. And well, neither does Harry.

“Hey, everything’s okay, you’re a happy, happy girl,” he says softly to Shelly, who’s beginning to drool down her chin from all the crying. “You know what? Let’s sing a song. We’ll sing you a song, a song will make you feel better, right?”

“A song?”

“Um, okay, okay, we can do this,” Harry says as he starts clapping, thinking of child-appropriate songs. “ _The wheels on the bus go round and round_ ,” Harry starts, nodding at Zayn to join in while still clapping at Shelly’s face to get her going too.

“ _Round and round, round and round_ ,” Zayn completes the line, although sounding unsure and not completely committed to the words.

The next lines they sing together, _the wheels on the bus_ , again and again, until Harry starts to forget what the words even mean, _the bus, round and round,_ all the same, but Shelly’s still crying, more drool on her chin and snot on her upper lip.

“No, you know what,” he gives in while Zayn’s still clapping, though he sounds a lot more enthusiastic about the bus now. “This isn’t working. Maybe she’s hungry, come on,” Harry decided on the spot, reaching out for Shelly. “Let’s go eat.”

“Wait,” Zayn still clapping behind Harry as he makes his way to the kitchen. “I thought we weren’t picking her up?”

—————

“Okay, Shelly, hold on, I’m almost done.” Harry’s trying his hardest to make her a carrot and apple smoothie, but with pealing the apples and slicing up the carrot, it’s taking a tad bit longer than what Shelly seemingly had in mind. She’s just so _loud_ – Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard her cry like this. It’s a piercing sound that’s probably making its way through the whole neighborhood. It’s ringing inside of Harry’s head in a way that makes him afraid he won’t be able to un-hear it again, that he’ll be lying in bed tonight with the echoing cry bouncing off of walls around him. It would be better than the silence of last night, but only slightly.

“You do know she’s not a food critic right?” Zayn pipes up for some reason. He’s got a new bottle of beer in his hand and Harry glares at him for it, but he just shrugs it away, unapologetically tipping the bottle back.

“I’m not going to feed her just anything, Zayn.”

“But you are going to manage to feed her today, right?”

The only thing Harry _can_ do – or allows himself to do in front of Shelly – is roll his eyes so fast he almost hurts himself. “If you’re going to criticize everything I do, you can just go watch a game or something.”

“Nothing good is on,” Zayn shrugs and Harry can appreciate his honesty, but only to a certain point.

“Is that all you can do?” Harry asks as he pours the smoothie into a plastic bowl. “Shrugging and making me feel like complete s-h-i-t.”

“Really, with the spelling? Harry, she’s one.”

“And?”

“And just feed her already.”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Harry retorts, because Zayn breathing down his neck isn’t something he needs. Harry doesn’t want this to be a struggle, he doesn’t want to fight through every single thing they have to do for Shelly. Just thinking about all the decisions they’ll have to make – the best preschool for Shelly, high school, college, the color of her room once she needs a new, bigger bed – it’s giving Harry a headache already.

Zayn doesn’t shrug this time, which Harry actually appreciates, but he does drink more of his beer. “Do you honestly think we’re the best thing for her?”

Harry sighs and sits down in front of Shelly’s stool, smiling brightly at her as if nothing is wrong and he doesn’t hear the doubt in Zayn’s voice. Or her new pacified sobs.

“You hungry?” he asks her, whispering, “Yes you are, yes you are,” all high and excited to try and get Shelly to open up her mouth. It isn’t working exactly like it should. When not even the plane move he’s seen in so many movies work, Harry leans back in his chair and looks at Zayn. “Louis and Liam were the best thing for her.” It’s not easy to say it out loud and from the look on Zayn’s face it also isn’t easy to hear it, but they both know it’s true. “We’re second best. Or we can try to be.”

Zayn hums and cocks his head to the side. He looks like he’s considering something, something that Harry won’t want to hear. “Okay, but tell me this. What does Shelly do to your dreams of meeting a guy one day in the very distant future and having kids of your own? Have you thought about that? Because a guy your age is already considered complicated – _beyond_ complicated – and with a baby on top of that…”

“Did you just say a guy my age?” Harry glares are Zayn. “And what do you mean complicated? You know nothing about me.”

“Well,” Zayn laughs dryly. “I know you can’t feed Shelly.”

Harry turns to look at her and she’s stopped crying for the time being. She’s looking from Harry to Zayn, like she’s listening to their conversation and waiting her turn to put her two cents in. Not for the first time, Harry’s captivated by her eyes, big and so blue with the slightest hint of mischief, which remarkably remind Harry so much of Louis, he has to turn away.

“Why are you trying so hard to convince me not to take care of Shelly?” Harry asks, but he doesn’t say it with a mean or convicting tone. He’s honestly just curious, because it seems Zayn is trying his damned hardest to get out of this house and as far away from Harry and Shelly as he can.

“I’m not trying to convince you not to take care of her. I’m just thinking of what’s best for her.”

“No, you’re trying to do what’s best for you, Zayn.”

“I’m trying to do what’s best for her,” Zayn repeats himself, stepping away from the counter and standing with his feet wide and his shoulders squared, like he’s prepping for a fight, ready to throw his punches. He stands tall until his shoulders deflate again and he looks down, shaking his head. “And we’re not it.”

Harry drops the plastic spoon into the bowl and turns his whole body towards Zayn, taking his own fighting stance. “Louis and Liam loved Shelly more than anything, anything in the entire world, and out of everyone Zayn, they picked us,” Harry says seriously. “They picked _us_.”

Zayn doesn’t raise his head to look at Harry, because he must know he’s right. He has to realize that it means something. Louis and Liam could’ve picked anyone else – their cousins, Liam’s dad, or any relative from Louis’ side – but they picked Harry and Zayn, together, not just one of them. And Harry can do this by himself, he can put his life on hold until he’s mastered everything he needs to take care of Shelly like she deserves, or he can do it with Zayn. Even if they picked them together, Harry is more than willing to do it by himself.

So Harry turns back to Shelly and picks up the spoon again, loading a little bit of the fruit mesh on top and vrooming it to Shelly’s mouth. “Come on, just try it. It’s so so so good.”

She makes an annoyed face, the one Harry knows means she’s going to start crying again. “It’s so delicious, I promise. Yum yum yum,” Harry tries again, eating what’s on the spoon himself just to show her. He loads it again and caries it towards her mouth in loops, as animatedly as he can, but she’s not having it, twisting and turning in her chair and crying again. “Just try it, please, just a little bit.”

When she starts shaking her head away, Harry wants nothing more than to scream, but Zayn walks up to her stool then, carrying a box of cookies that he dumps in front of Shelly. And as easy as anything, the little traitor, she picks one up and starts to gnaw at it with her three front teeth.

She has something against him, Harry thinks, because his smoothie really is delicious, but he keeps silent when he senses Zayn’s eyes on the top of his head.

“So you honestly think we’re the best thing for her?”

Just as Harry before, Zayn’s voice isn’t mean or vindictive, he doesn’t say it to hurt Harry or to continue their fight. Harry knows Zayn honestly doesn’t think they’re good, that it could work or that they could commit to taking care of her. Harry can see that. He knows it.

As he looks at Shelly biting at her cookie contentedly, smiling at them a little, Harry starts to wonder if maybe he’s being too optimistic, too positive, too glass-half-full.

—————

It’s been two days. Almost forty-eight hours since Harry and Zayn got the call from officer Young that turned their lives upside down. Two days and they haven’t had a chance to mourn their friends, their best friends passing.

Harry met Louis in high school, junior year, when Harry was still being bullied for his gangly legs and Louis was already the firecracker ready to go off on anyone he thought was deserving. He saved Harry that day, at the beginning at the school year, and that was it, friends for life, comrades in everything they did, all they needed for so long that even their families started teasing them about moving in together finally. They were all proven wrong when Louis met Liam though, because that – that was the kind of love Louis and Harry always wanted to have.

Louis and Harry went to Paris during the summer after they graduated, searching for something, letting loose before they had to start living their Lives, the ones where they had respectable jobs with steady incomes and kids on the way. So when the years after college were finally behind them, they flew to Paris to have one last wild summer break, drinking expensive wine and trying to get cute guys’ phone numbers even with a bit of a language barrier.

But then, right as Harry and Louis were making their way to Notre Dame Cathedral, because they wanted to do some of the touristy things too, Harry caught sight of this classically beautiful face – chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, almond shaped eyes and pouty lips. He went to pull on Louis arm to show him so that they could appreciate Parisian art together, but Louis was already walking over to him, the beautiful man leaning against the gates in front of the cathedral. Except, Louis wasn’t really interested in those wide shoulders and narrow waist – Harry saw Louis had his eyes on the boy next to him, the one with a stronger build, with hard muscles, with loose jeans and a smile Harry was too busy to notice.

As they say, the rest is history and now, it really is. Louis and Liam had a wonderful life together that wasn’t just love and laughter and lust. Harry heard and saw them fight, knew they had their problems just like every other couple out there, but no matter their sometimes insuperable differences, they were happy. They were so happy that they wanted to share it with the world. It wasn’t just Louis that was Harry’s best friend, Liam was too. And Zayn, the one with those sharp cheekbones. Their hearts were so big and so wonderful, they decided to adopt a beautiful girl, to make her life a little happier as well.

Louis and Liam were such kind, happy, wonderful human beings that now that they’re gone, the world is just that much darker. A little less loved and a little less sunny.

—————

No one holds his tears against Harry, because the little speech he made, the one he saw made Zayn’s eyes wet too, was something he had to say. In two days, neither Harry nor Zayn had had the time to mourn the passing of their best friends, and now that the funeral is over, Harry needs this reception at the house to end as quickly as possible, so he can go lie down and eat a carton of ice-cream in nothing but his underwear.

Many people showed up at the funeral, but now they’re all aggregated in a house that no longer feels empty or hollow, and it’s too many sad faces looking at Harry with the kind of desperate sorrow that it’s making him feel a little sick. But Harry doesn’t really have the time to focus on anyone’s condolences  or sad wishes, because he’s too busy making sure everyone is eating and drinking and talking with each other about Louis or Liam and the great life they had, instead of how Zayn and Harry have been left to take care of Shelly by themselves now.

It’s something they discussed this morning. Taking care of Shelly might just be too big of a job for them, a commitment they haven’t really thought about, not really, not together like they should’ve. So after almost an hour of debating and quiet shouting to not wake Shelly up, Harry succumbed to Zayn’s plea to just talk to some of the cousins and aunts and uncles, just to see if any of them would be better.

So now maybe Harry is trying to be busier than he actually is for a funeral reception where no one is really that hungry, because he can’t quite face the possibility of Shelly going away, moving to some strange house with people that don’t know anything about her.

Harry was there when her first tooth peeked out of her tiny gums, taking a photo and uploading it on _Instagram_ because he wanted the world to know how great Shelly was. Harry was there when she first came home and then when Louis and Liam bought this house, a bigger, better place to raise a child in, with more room to run around and a spacious backyard for a pool in the summer. Harry was there when Louis and Liam started talking about adopting, when they barely had a clue how to go around filing the right papers. He was there and so was Zayn, and now after everything, he’d rather be on snack duty than find a new house for Shelly to live in.

After fifteen more minutes of uselessly moving around pots and plates, Zayn walks into the kitchen with an empty bottle of beer in his hand. Harry doesn’t mention it though, like he should, because he knows it’s Zayn’s way of distancing himself – it’s Zayn’s way of making more food.

“Are you still busy?” Zayn asks, on his way to the fridge to get yet another bottle.

“Kind of,” Harry mumbles and picks up random plates to move them around on the counter. He wonders if it looks believable.

“Come on, you can come back in ten minutes, let’s just try to talk to some people.”

“Zayn,” Harry huffs. He has to stop for a second and brace his hands against the counter to keep himself steady. “I don’t want to do this.”

Harry can hear Zayn moving behind him, walking around the kitchen island until he’s standing next to Harry, leaning against the counter too. “I know. I don’t want to either, but we need to see if it’s a possibility, right?” He voice sounds so soft, so careful, that Harry would start chastising him for the condescension dripping from his words, if it didn’t feel as honest as it does. “Just a short chat, nothing more.”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself again. “Okay,” he nods. “Just a chat.”

Zayn nods at him once with a small smile playing at his lips, and so it goes. They talk to Kevin, Liam’s cousin from his mother’s side who staggeringly has nine kids already. But the guy barely remembers their names or ages or which kid is his and which is his brother’s. It’s all very chaotic in the backyard, what with Kevin’s nine kids yelling and running around, scraming and shouting.

Louis cousin isn’t much better either. She says she’s on tour right now, in Phoenix for another week and then off to Houston to rotate around the clubs there. Neither Zayn nor Harry ask what kind of clubs she’s talking about, because her plunging next line, her two inch shirt with ten inch heels make it somewhat obvious. And even if it weren’t, when she leaned in close to Harry to ask if there’s a pole anywhere in this house, was. Harry personally has nothing against strippers, more power to them for doing what they want, he just doesn’t think a busy stripper currently on tour could do a better job than he could, which is why they’re doing this in the first place.

—————

The people leave one by one, disappearing from the house quietly with a goodbye or with a show of hugs and kisses and halfhearted advice that Harry still listens to and remembers, because you never know. Kevin leaves with a hopeful kind of smile that Harry freely interprets as “don’t give me anymore kids to take care of,” and Joan, Louis’ cousin doesn’t so much as wink at her way out.

It takes everyone about twenty minutes to leave the house as empty and quiet as they found it. This time though, Harry can admit that it feels more than welcomed. It’s peaceful as the neighbor hums with the oncoming sunset, walking their dogs and calling their kids home for supper.

Zayn puts Shelly down for bed as Harry clears the house. He loads the dishwasher and takes out the trash, he puts all he leftover food on one plate and wraps it with plastic so that they can eat it tomorrow for lunch. It’s easy and quick, wiping the counters and putting Shelly’s toys away, getting all the flowers into vases and spreading them around the house.

After they’re done, they plop down on the couch, both exhausted and only one slightly drunk from all the beer he’s been drinking through the day.

“Well,” Zayn breathes out, tipping the bottle to his lips. “We could go with the nine-kids family? I mean, they clearly know how to keep a child alive.”

“Oh yeah, or maybe with the stripper because she seems _super_ nice,” Harry returns.

“She does,” Zayn chuckles.

And Harry makes sure to add a quick, “No sleeping with the family,” just to be sure.

“I know, I know.”

None of them are right. Not for Shelly. Not for the kid Harry has been watching grow up and turn one year old. None of them would be better for her that him and Zayn. Not the dad with the nine kids already, not the exotic dancer on tour and not any other member of Louis’ or Liam’s extended families. They just wouldn’t do, they don’t fit.

Zayn sighs again, drinking until his bottle is empty. “We’re screwed.”

—————

 _Next case, the matter of Shelly Margaret Tomlinson-Payne, Index number 05893-01_ , echoes through the small courtroom.

“Alright,” the judge starts. “I’ve read your submissions, along with the will, given that you folks were named as guardians, and I see no reason to counterman the parents’ wishes. So, I hereby grant joint legal and physical custody of Shelly Margaret Tomlinson-Payne to Harry Styles and Zayn Malik.” She emphasizes her ruling with a slam and it’s done, finished.

They walked in half an hour ago, sat nervously at the back until their case was called and now, after five seconds of standing in front of the judge, it’s decided. It’s over. And even if Harry is happy, he feels that the whole thing was a little hasty.

“What, that’s it?” Zayn asks, speaking Harry’s mind. They exchange a similar look between them before Zayn goes on. “You’re not gonna ask us anything? How do you know we’re not drug dealers or pimps?”

“Ha,” Harry panics. “He doesn’t mean that. I’m sorry, _we_ are very sorry.”

“Are you drug dealers or pimps?” The judge asks calmly, and Harry is absolutely in awe of that. If he was sitting up there with that much power, he’d throw Zayn in an overnight jail just because he _could_. Just to get back at him for all the mocking.

“No ma’am, no,” Harry answers. “Thank you, really, thank you so much.”

As soon as the doors of the courtroom close behind then, Harry makes sure not to jostle Shelly too much as he punches Zayn right in the shoulder.

—————

“She’s insane. ‘Okay, next case, here take a kid. No, you know what, take two, we got extra.’ What was that?” Zayn has been going on and on about the judge, like she’s done him a great pain in giving him custody over Shelly. Harry, for one, is thankful. “I don’t get it man, I’ve been so good all my life, you know?” Zayn says, turning to Harry like he’s expecting a response. He shakes his head and goes on, walking around the house with Shelly in his arms. “Every time a chick said ‘hey Zayn, we don’t need a condom’ I said no, and I still end up with a kid.”

“Okay, you know what, get over it, you have a kid.” Harry says, still exhausted from everything that’s happened. “We need to figure out a schedule, because I work tomorrow morning.”

“Oh great, now I have to live by a schedule. Isn’t that just great,” Zayn keeps whining.

Harry frowns at him and reaches out for Shelly, which Zayn gives away a little too willingly if you ask Harry. “It is great, Zayn, it’s fucking wonderful, because it means that we have Shelly.” Harry can see how Shelly looks up at him, like she’s preparing herself to cry at any moment. “Get over yourself and start acting like you’re at least happy that she gets to grow up with good people. Not every kid that loses their parents gets to have that,” Harry says, rocking Shelly from side to side. “And stop only thinking about yourself.”

It sufficiently shuts Zayn right up, who’s left standing motionless and staring at Harry like he’s grown at least an extra head. But Harry ignores him altogether and nods once, just for emphasis, to really solidify his words.

He walks away from Zayn without another word, choosing to focus on Shelly instead.

—————

It’s an hour later, when Harry is cooped up with Shelly in her room, playing with some of the toys she got yesterday. The _Lego_ set with age appropriate pieces seems to be her favorite. She’s biting at the plastic of a bright blue piece as Harry stacks them all up into a tall tower. He’s probably having more fun than she is, but it doesn’t matter, because every time she knocks his tower over and the _Legos_ fall all around them, the bubbling laugh she makes has Harry stacking them up over and over again, higher every time.

“You’re just so smart,” Harry coos at her, ruffling the few fair strands of hair on her head. “You’ll be a genius when you grow up, won’t you?”

She gurgles a little and smiles, shoving the piece back into her mouth.

“I mean, you can be whatever you want,” Harry shrugs, as he beings to restack everything. “But I would be extra proud if you would like to be the president. Or an astronaut. Or maybe you can be a baker too and take over my shop, huh?” Harry runs a finger over her chubby cheek. “How does that sound? Your whole life revolving around baked goods and coffee.”

Harry wasn’t expecting a ‘yes’ or a ‘no, I’d rather just keep chewing on this piece of plastic, thank you very much’, but the bright eyed smile he gets as an answer is just as good.

“You’re right. Whatever you want to be is good enough for me.”

A quiet, “Hey,” interrupts Harry’s happy bubble, followed by an even gentler knock and Zayn’s head popping from behind the door. “Am I interrupting?”

Shelly turns her little body and smiles at Zayn, taking the _Logo_ out of her mouth and handing it off to him.

“Thanks, little lady,” Zayn’s face contorts as soon as his hand touches the saliva-covered piece. “It’s a little wetter than I’d like…”

“I think that’s what babies are all about,” Harry chuckles, looking at Shelly. “Everything’s a little wetter than you’d like.”

“Huh, I know, right?” Zayn muses, ruffling Shelly’s hair too. It’s something she’ll apparently have to get used to. “Look, Harry, I um – I wanted to apologize?”

“Try to make it sound less like a question.”

Harry expected to see a deep frown, but Zayn just smiles at him in answer. “Yeah, I suck at saying sorry. But I really am. I’m sorry, for everything. I’ll try to take this more seriously. I promise.”

“Don’t promise it to me. I don’t need you to be here. She does,” Harry says, pointing at Shelly.

“I promise,” Zayn says softly, leaning down to give Shelly a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m here.”

“That’s good. I think she really appreciates you getting your s-h-i-t together finally.”

“Oh she does, does she?”

“Oh yeah, we’ve been up here just talking–”

“Wait,” Zayn interrupts, frowning. “Can you smell that?”

Harry sniffs the air, trying to catch whatever is making Zayn’s face twist like that, when… “Did you poop?” Harry looks at Shelly.

“Oh god, it smells disgusting.”

Harry jumps up to his feet, picking Shelly up to make sure he’s smelling right. “You did! You pooped, you finally pooped!”

“Why are so excited about someone’s s-h-i-t?”

“Because a baby pooping is fantastic! They have to poop regularly,” Harry sing-songs over his shoulder as he’s walking with Shelly to the bathroom already, and if he’d still be in front of Zayn to hear his little, “I do too, but no one is as excited when it happens,” comment, he’d smack him.

—————

Zayn’s taken upon himself to be the one who puts Shelly down at night. It’s actually nice, Harry thinks to himself as he makes them something to eat, that he’s really starting to take this seriously. It’s also good that Shelly and Zayn have some alone time, even if it’s more or less blurry for Shelly as she drifts to sleep. It’s still quality bonding time.

Zayn seems to forget that Harry has no idea how to do it, that he has just as much sense of what’s right as he does when it comes to raising a child. They’re both new at this, both forced to take on everything that comes with having and taking care of Shelly. Neither of them chose to have a kid this way – and sure, Harry’s wanted to have a family and kids since he was little – but it’s happening, it’s here and they should embrace it. It’s good seeing that Zayn’s finally doing just that.

“Mmm, it smells delicious,” Zayn says as soon as he walks into the kitchen.

“Is she asleep?”

“Down like the dead,” Zayn says jokingly, but when Harry gives him a menacing glare, Zayn clears his throat and corrects himself with a quick, “Yeah, she is. Off in dreamland.”

“Good,” Harry nods. “Now go wash your hands and make the table.”

They sit down and Harry loads their plates full of his famous _spag bol_ , with a refreshing salad at the side of sliced tomatoes, green peppers, olives and goat cheese he found in the back of the fridge. As they eat and hum over the food, Harry realizes that just as quality time with Shelly is important, so is the time he and Zayn spend together like this, after the house is quiet again and the lights are dimmed to a more subtle glow. They have to bond and talk and learn how to live together if they’re really going to do this, like they’re supposed to, like they should. No half-assing or fighting over stupid little things just to get each other going. They have to be serious grown-ups, actual adults, the kind that have a sleeping child upstairs.

But just as Harry’s about to unload all of this on Zayn, make a little speech again about the importance of a structured family and good relations, there’s a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Zayn says as he wipes his mouth, standing up and walking off.

He comes back in about a minute and Harry’s half curious about who it was and half glad the house is still as quiet as it was before, but the look on Zayn’s face – his raised eyebrows and tense shoulders – tells Harry otherwise.

“Hey neighbor.” It’s Ben, the neighbor from across the street and he has glass pans in his hands, two of them stocked on top of each other with what looks like lasagna inside. “We wanted to see how you’re doing and we thought we’d bring some food over.”

Harry swallows. “We?”

What seems like their entire neighborhood is in their dining room now, walking towards the table to put their pots and pans of food in front of Harry. There’s Ben and Jess that brought lasagna, Nick and Peter with their casseroles, and Amanda and Gavin who made three whole apple pies. All the food smells delicious and looks absolutely amazing, but as Harry shares a look with Zayn, they both wanted a quiet night in with a bottle of wine and a couple of bottles of beer.

Everybody stands quietly around the table as Harry sits in front of his empty plate, expectantly waiting for Harry to give them some sort of a sign. It’s nerve-racking, because Harry doesn’t want to do that, he really doesn’t, but alas, because he thinks some socializing with experienced parents might not be such a bad idea, he sighs and say, “Come, sit down. Would anyone like a glass of wine?”

—————

“We had nine months to prepare and let me tell you, it was chaos once I gave birth and we had to take care of a fragile little baby,” Amanda says, shaking her head and smiling lightly, because Nina, her three year old isn’t that much of a baby anymore. “All I can say is that you get used to it. Sooner or later.”

“She’s right,” Ben nods. “After a while, it stops being such a _thing_ , you know? But how are you doing with Shelly? You look a little tired.”

“Oh,” Zayn pipes up, finally removing his lips from the beer bottle. “That would be the not sleeping.”

“You don’t look that tired,” Nick muses, winking at Zayn a little inappropriately if the look Peter gives him is anything to go by.

“Well, you know, don’t worry, because you won’t sleep for the next ten years.” Jess is laughing, but Harry can’t find it in himself to find any humor in what she said. Not at the moment.

“Yeah, and you’re never gonna get used to children’s music,” Ben grumbles. “If I knew where the Wiggles lived, and I’m working on it, I would murder them all.” When Harry gives him a dubious look, he adds a completely convincing, “I’m very serious.”

“Joking aside,” Peter says. “You gotta get two things straight. One, get a sitter.”

“And a backup.”

“Exactly. And the second thing, really important, is you can never have enough paper towels.”

Nick nods, raising his hand like they’re in school. “Don’t shop at Shop Now, because they’re always out of milk and they don’t carry the unscented wipes.”

Harry’s a bit overwhelmed by the sudden downpour of information, but he’s listening, nodding along and looking over at Zayn who looks just as lost as he feels.

“Now, I know Liam wanted Shelly to go to Big Wagon Preschool, so you may wanna think about making donations,” Ben reminds them, because Harry already knew that, of course, the big wagon. He knew that.

—————

The first time you stand on the edge of the diving board, your heartbeat picks up, your palms are clammy and your fingers itch. You feel like your knees are gonna give in any second, like your breathing nothing, no air flowing in or out of your lungs. You’ve watched how people jumped into the pool, laughing while they pulled off crazy shapes with their bodies, but now that you’re up there, it doesn’t look as fun or as thrilling, and the smell of chlorine is making you sick. The elastic of your bathing suit is cutting into your skin and your knees really are giving in, giving up under the pressure of jumping off.

The first time you jump off of a diving board, the first day of school, your first job interview – it all feels heavy and serious, and like your lungs are going to collapse before you’re able to do it. It all feels a lot like raising a one year old, when you don’t have the slightest idea what you’re doing.

Harry remembers standing on that diving board for ten minutes before he jumped. He remembers how scenarios of every single thing that could go wrong flipped in front of his eyes like a book of horrors, broken legs and lost trunks he wouldn’t be able to recover from. His hands were sweaty and he was one breath away from an asthma attack, but he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and jumped.

No broken legs, no drowning and he kept his trunks on. Harry remembers all of it, but what he’s going to focus on from now on, from that day that he’ll never forget is Louis voice, shouting and yelling at Harry from the pool side, clapping his hands. He looked so proud of Harry, just because he jumped, just because he took that tiny leap of faith. And if Louis was so proud of him back then, when they were still kids, Harry likes to think he’s yelling and shouting now too, hollering at Harry and clapping just as wildly with Liam, both of them proud of Harry and Zayn, because after two weeks of messy schedules and whispered arguing after dinner, they’ve finally figured it out, took a deep breath and jumped – and they’re doing okay, no broken legs or bloody noses. They’re doing just fine.

—————

They start with their schedules. With a calendar that Harry pins in the kitchen and looks at for five minutes before he’s able to stop thinking about how thirty-one days is nothing, how they’ll all fly by them, how Shelly will be older by a month and Harry still doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Why do we need a calendar?” Zayn’s standing propped against the doorway and this time, there isn’t a beer bottle anywhere near him.

“Well,” Harry picks up a pen. “Because we need to figure out our work schedules and all that.”

“Okay, well, I work afternoons and nights, and you work mornings. Done.”

Even this is a sign of their growth, because Harry doesn’t turn to roll his eyes at Zayn and he doesn’t make a comment to set Zayn off on another little smart-mouth rampage. Instead, he picks up the pen and makes Zayn tell him when those afternoons and nights will be exactly, date and time.

“And I don’t have to work every morning,” Harry says, biting at the end of his pen. “Maybe an afternoon here or there.”

“I go running in the morning,” Zayn adds under his breath, but if he hoped that Harry won’t hear him, he was thoroughly mistaken, because this time he does turn around to look at Zayn.

“You what?”

“I run.” Zayn clearly doesn’t like Harry’s tone, because he’s crossing his arms over his chest again and Harry’s learnt that’s a defense mechanism, that Zayn only does that when he feels slightly threatened or when he’s getting ready to fight. It’s a little bit of both now, Harry thinks.

“I’m sorry,” Harry raises his hands, but he can’t help his smile. “I just… can’t picture you running.”

And then Zayn looks absolutely done, uncrossing his arms and walking towards the counter. “Well I do. But it’s not like it’s every morning, just, you know, on _special occasions_.” He hops onto the counter, swinging his legs. “When I’m in the mood.”

Now Harry’s feeling kind of done too, because this isn’t something he wants to hear about. Definitely not. “You know what? You can go running every morning if you want, but if you wake up Shelly during the night with any kind of _noises_ … ”

“What if I wake _you_ up?” Zayn smirks.

“Then you’ll pray you’d woken up Shelly,” Harry says, pointing his pen at Zayn’s chest and meaning every word.

“Well, since we’re on the subject–”

“Oh, we’re not. We’re so far off the subject we can’t even see it,” Harry turns, going back to the calendar to pen down his own work schedule.

Zayn clears his throat, but if he was hoping to make Harry turn around, it’s not working. There’s another moment of silence until Zayn asks, not even trying to be smooth, “So when was the last time you _were_ on the subject?”

Harry gasps. “You did not just ask me that.”

“What? I was just wondering.”

“Then stop wondering about my sex life! It’s none of your business.”

“I’m gonna take that to mean a long time then,” Zayn chuckles. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, by the way,” he goes on, as if Harry’s listening to him, because he’s definitely not. “I just think it’s a shame.”

“A shame?” Harry asks, but he doesn’t look away from where’s he’s dotting down an event he has coming. He thinks he manages to sound disinterested, but he’s not sure.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a shame you’re not out there, because you know, you’re kind of hot.” Harry doesn’t see Zayn, but he can imagine his signature shrug was added at the end to make his words sound more casual. They don’t though, because no matter how casual it sounds, Harry doesn’t want to talk about his relationships – or the lack there of – with Zayn, of all people.

As Harry finally goes to turn away from the calendar to point his pen at Zayn again, there’s only a second that passes, but it’s enough for him to imagine how Louis should he here too, leaning against the counter next to Zayn and enforcing his words, telling Zayn that’s it’s been too long since Harry’s had a reason to _go running_. Then it takes another second for Harry to shake his head to clear that image away from his mind and by the shift of Zayn’s eyes, he must notice.

“You didn’t seem to think that,” Harry says quickly then, because they shouldn’t focus on how Louis isn’t there, how he’ll never he here again.

“What makes you think that?” Zayn cocks his head to the side. He manages to look genuinely curious.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re probably one of the worst –” Harry shakes his head again. “No, no. You _are_ the worst date I’ve ever had.”

“We didn’t go on a date.”

And then all Harry can do is look at Zayn with his mouth hanging open. “Oh my– You don’t even remember?”

“That thing,” Zayn waves his hand awkwardly. “When I came to pick you up and you sent me home five minutes later was not a date.”

Harry gasps. “Are you joking? You were an hour late!”

“There was an emergency…”

“Okay,” Harry allows it. “What was the emergency then?”

Zayn shrugs. “I had to pick up my sister at the airport.”

“Zayn,” Harry laughs. “You don’t have a sister.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you knew that.” Zayn scratches at his scruff and looks pensive, deep in though. Harry can only imagine what his next excuse will be. “Well, I could’ve been picking up my sister.”

“You realize excuses don’t work like that, right? They’re not supposed to be hypothetical.”

“Are you an expert in excuse making?” Zayn asks, completely serious.

“Well, no…”

“Then you don’t have a leg to stand on, do you?”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

Harry blinks, dumbfounded. He has no idea what just happened, if he actually lost this argument, which can’t be possible, but then he doesn’t know why he feels like Zayn won. He shakes his head again – and if he does it again, Harry’s sure he’ll give himself whiplash – and takes a step back.

“It was a date,” he states clearly, so that even Zayn will understand. “And you ruined it before it even started.”

Zayn smirks, his eyes gleaming. “Well then.” He jumps off the counter and looks straight at Harry as he says, “Maybe I’ll just have to try again,” before he walks off, leaving Harry so confused he feels a headache coming on.

—————

In one of the books lying around, the ones Harry has read religiously because he wanted to know everything there is about how to properly raise a one-year-old, there was a chapter all about how to change a diaper. It was a good read, but mostly because Harry had no idea that there was a whole system devoted to sticking and unsticking the little flaps – they’re self-explanatory enough that Zayn did it wrong only twice before realizing all by himself how to do it. But now that Zayn’s brought a book over, probably the same one with the sticky flaps issue, saying he’s read something interesting, Harry doesn’t think he actually figured it out by himself.

“We could give her a bath. It says here that if the water reaches to the top of her ankles, it should be fine.”

Harry’s cleaning the living room while Shelly’s busy making a mess inside her playpen where he’s dumping all her dolls and cars and rubbery balls and random pieces of _Legos_. Not for the first time, Harry wonders if she needs all these toys, if she wouldn’t be happy with maybe one doll and one toy car, like a healthy balanced diet of toys.

Zayn’s standing in front of him with an open book in his hands, scratching at his scruff with his index. He’s frowning down at the pages, flipping them back and forth, and Harry has to admit it’s a nice distraction for a moment, looking up at how Zayn’s eyelashes fan over his cheekbones when he’s squinting like that, all serious and confused.

“Have you been reading up?” Harry teases. He could be a bigger person and nod, maybe hum and agree that Zayn’s idea isn’t a bad one – far from the initial ‘hey, let’s get a trampoline for her’ that made Harry watch over Zayn like a hawk when he had Shelly in his arms. “Don’t tell me you’re taking this seriously.”

“What?” Zayn’s frowning at him now, looking from Harry to Shelly, like he’s missed something and he’s trying to catch up.

Harry chuckles to himself. “I said that it’s a good idea.”

“Really?” Zayn beams, clearly proud of himself.

“Really.”

“Okay, then let’s go.”

“What if we clean up here first?” Harry raises his eyebrows, stopping Zayn mid turn, because he’s in the middle of putting Shelly’s books on her knee-high bookshelf, trying to establish some sort of alphabetical or color order in their spines.

“Oh, yeah,” Zayn rushes, putting his own book on the end table before he joins Harry on the floor. He sits with his legs crossed while they clean, asking Shelly ridiculous questions that only make her look at Zayn all confused and cute, bubbling spit on her lips as she tries to tell them something. Harry is firmly positive that she’s gonna say her first words soon, but Zayn doesn’t think so. And with all that he’s apparently read in the past couple of days, Harry’s beginning to believe him.

“You know,” Zayn starts when Harry puts the last book on the shelf, the living room spacious and walk-able again. Harry stands and goes over to Shelly. She’s rubbing at her eyes, clearly sleepy and ready for her very first bath in a real bathtub instead of the bathroom sink. He picks her up and smiles at her, tickling under her chin to make her giggle. “I’m actually happy we’re doing this.”

“You are?” Harry squeals, looking at Shelly but addressing Zayn, too mesmerized by Shelly smiling up at him.

“Yeah, but not about how we got to do this,” Zayn rushes to say. “Just, that we decided to do this in the end. That we didn’t give her up, you know.”

Harry turns to finally look at Zayn, who’s standing there with his eyes already on Harry and Shelly, smiling at them both as he points his thumb over his shoulder and towards the stairs. He’s turning around and walking away before Harry can say anything back, before Harry even has a chance to acknowledge that Zayn said he’s happy or that he’s decided to do this for real, committing to Shelly and to, well, Harry too in a way.

Harry huffs, shakes his head at Shelly, bops her nose and follows Zayn up the stairs.

—————

“Okay little lady, in you go.”

“Be careful.”

“Harry,” Zayn glares at him. “I got this.”

“Okay, well, just a reminder.”

“Thank you, but I think we’ll be fine. Won’t we?” Zayn smiles at Shelly as he lowers her into the water, setting her down in the tub. “Yes we will, yes we will,” he goes on, ruffling her hair as she splashes tentatively at the water.

Harry can’t help but laugh at Zayn’s baby-talk – clearly he’s embracing his role as Shelly’s guardian – and Zayn rights himself quickly after that, clearing his throat and sitting back down on the floor. What’s done is done though, and Harry might just be too excited to use this material to tease Zayn in the future.

“Shut up,” Zayn mumbles, splashing his fingers in the water too.

“I didn’t say anything.” Harry raises his hands, but he’s cheeks already hurt from the smile he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

Zayn hums at him, brings his hand up to Harry’s face and before Harry can react, Zayn is splashing water at his face. Shelly’s giggling at Harry’s squawk, kicking her legs out in the water and managing to get some of it out of the tub and onto Zayn’s t-shirt and jeans.

“Ha,” Harry laughs. “Guess we know on whose team she is.”

“I’m all alone in this world,” Zayn feigns being hurt, grabbing at his t-shirt and falling back until he’s splayed on the floor, laughing still. “Nobody loves me, nobody cares.”

“I bet there’s someone out there, just not Shelly.”

“Oh come on,” Zayn’s quick to get back up, cooing at Shelly and grabbing a yellow duck to squeak it at her. “You love me, don’t you? Your uncle Zayn? Uncle Z?”

“If your first word is ‘Zayn’ I’m going to be offended, just so you know.”

“Can you say Zayn? Come on. _Zayn_.”

“Don’t do it Shelly.”

“Zayn,” Zayn drags the syllables, half mooing at Shelly as she keeps on laughing at them, like they’ve lost their minds, which, well… they’re having fun even if they have. “Just do it, it’s simple. Zayn. See, no fuss to it. Zayn.”

“If you don’t stop saying your name, it’s gonna lose all meaning.”

“You’re just saying that because she’s totally gonna say it before ‘Harry’.”

“Zayn…”

“That’s right, little lady, say Zayn, I know you can do it.”

“No, Zayn–”

“I mean, ‘Z’ works just fine if that’s what you want to go with.”

“Zayn!”

“What?” Zayn finally turns away from Shelly.

“She’s making the poop face.”

“What? What do you mean she’s making the poop face?” Zayn starts to laugh, but then he looks back over to Shelly, who has her eyebrows puller together and her face is starting to get more color to it.

“Poop face!” Harry reaches to get her out of the water. “Oh god, she can’t poop in the tub. Hurry up, hurry up.” Zayn’s already knee-running to the toilet seat, but it’s baby-proofed and they still don’t quite know how the latch works. It’s only logical that Zayn can’t click it open now, when Harry is holding a ticking poop bomb in his arms, too close for comfort. “She’s gonna poop on me Zayn.”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Oh my god, she’s gonna poop on me. She’s gonna poop all over me.”

“This thing doesn’t work!” Zayn’s pulling on the latch, but it’s not budging, not even a little bit and Harry’s sure it’s not how it works. You’re supposed to push something down and then maybe twist and pull, or click and pull. Or maybe there’s no pulling at all, but all he knows in this moment is that he is not getting pooped on.

“Zayn, give me your shirt.”

“What?” Zayn looks up from the toilet, confused and bewildered, but he knows exactly what Harry means, because he’s already shaking his head. “No, no way.”

“Zayn!”

“Why?” He pleads, but he’s already pulling it over his head, and holding it under Shelly right when it happens. Harry’s holding his breath still, but he finally allows himself an inhale, because he managed to stay poop free. The same – thankfully – can’t be said for Zayn’s clothes. “Why? Why me? This is my favorite t-shirt.”

Harry snorts. “ _Was_ your favorite.”

“Oh, so it’s funny, huh?” Zayn says, but Harry can see how his eyes are crinkling a little, his lips pulling upwards even as his t-shirt is getting completely ruined. “I’ve had this t-shirt since high school.”

“Then it’s about time you buy a new one.”

“Laugh at my misery, please, like this isn’t bad enough.” But Zayn laughing now too, shaking his head with a smelly t-shirt in his hands. “What do I do with this now?”

“I think you can just throw it away,” Harry snorts.

Zayn looks at him seriously for a second, shifting his eyes from his t-shirt to Harry to Shelly and back to his hands, until his face breaks again and he starts whining a loud, “Why?” that makes Harry laugh again. This time, Shelly joins in with her giggles too.

—————

Before all this, before the responsibilities and Shelly and this house that Harry, Zayn and Shelly can barely fill enough to cancel out the silence, Harry had a good life. He worked hard, he opened up his own business which is doing better than he ever thought it would, he had time to read books and take long baths and drink good wine. Before this, Harry had time to spend with his best friend, to have picnics in the park, to unwind and relax after a long day. Harry had his life worked out, except for the part where he was single but more than happily married to his work. But he has his life and it was good.

He didn’t have to plan his day around a one-year-old, he didn’t fight with his roommate, because he lived alone in an apartment that was absolutely perfect, with a bathtub that fit him just right. He didn’t have to be happy about someone else’s bowel movements. He didn’t have to cook dinner for more than one. But most importantly, Harry could drink a glass of wine while flipping through the latest _Ikea_ catalogue before bed.

Things change though and accidents happen, your best friends die and leave you with their child, because that’s life. You begin to get used to the smell of a dirty dipper, you know which formula is best, and you start to prefer the scented organic wipes over the non-scented ones. Harry’s learning to live with another adult, to cook dinner for two and to give someone else a bath even if he can’t take one himself, because the tub barely even fits Shelly.

Harry’s learning all sorts of new, important things, the things that matter most, like caring for someone unconditionally, putting someone’s happiness and giggles before your own, or how it feels when Shelly looks at him and smiles, like she knows and it’s her way of showing her gratitude. But the thing Harry is most thankful for is Zayn, because even if it took him some time, Harry’s learnt that he can send Zayn and Shelly to the grocery store, so he can still have those twenty minutes with a glass of wine and the latest _Ikea_ catalogue.

Except that tonight, Harry isn’t focused on the pretty furniture he’d put in his perfect fantasy house. His thought drift around, from what his life was to what it is now, and in the meanwhile, the wine bottle is emptying all by itself. Harry poured himself a second glass when he thought about the bathtub he gave up and the scented candles he always had lined up around the sink. The third glass was filled when he remembered the privacy, the quiet of his apartment that allowed him to sink into his couch with a book Liam got into the habit of recommending. The last drops, those were for the fact that Zayn was one of his least favorite persons just two months ago, before all this happened.

It’s funny how before tonight, a glass of wine was all Harry had needed to unwind, when now, he’s a bottle in and wondering if there are any more in the kitchen.

Just as Harry’s convinced himself to go check, the front door is opening and his twenty minutes are over, the sound of Zayn’s keys like a buzzer bringing him back to the present.

“So I’m at the drugstore,” Zayn says instead of a hello. “And it dawns on me that women stare at men with a baby, like a guy will stare at a woman with a great rack. Not that guys don’t stare at you too, if you know what I mean,” he adds smoothly.

“Funny,” Harry chirps, picking up his empty glass. “You know what _I_ realized tonight? I am never gonna take a great bath in this house, because this is a shower house.” Harry can hear the whine is his words, but he doesn’t care, because he deserves to be able to take a bath whenever he pleases. Zayn doesn’t seem to agree though, because when he comes to the kitchen table to dump the grocery bags on it, he just raises his eyebrow, all questioning and judgy. “You never brush your hair, do you?” Harry cocks his head to the side, admiring Zayn’s messy but still somehow styled strands that fall perfectly at the side of his head. “It must save so much time. That’s so handy.”

“How’s the wine treating you?” Zayn asks and Harry decides to take a page from his book as he shrugs and tips the glass. He realizes for the third time in last five minutes that it’s still empty. “Good, yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Did you want some?”

“No no,”

“I can share, I’m a good sharer.” Harry swings the glass in the air. “Not that you need any, because you’re so cool, aren’t you? That’s what Louis told me when he set us up, you know?” He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes for a second, remembering how Louis came over to his bakery with a _great_ idea.

“He did, did he?”

“Mmm,” Harry hums. “He said, ‘Harry, you just got dumped by your boyfriend of three years. You need to go out and have some fun’. And then _ta-da_ ,” Harry spreads his arms wide, gesturing at all of Zayn. “You show up. Mister Zayn Malik shows up at my door an hour late and then you don’t even want to go to a restaurant.” Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that Harry’s reminded of it every time he sees Zayn, but the memory is a lot more vivid than he thought. “My first date in three years and it’s a total asshole at my door. A beautiful asshole. And now,” Harry says, wishing he could have another sip of his wine. “I’m raising a kid with that asshole.”

Harry could focus on the hurt look on Zayn’s face, how he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth or how he frowns. But Harry doesn’t, because he remembers how nervous he was. Louis had talked Zayn up, said they’d be perfect together, that Zayn was Liam’s best friend, which Harry took to mean _something_. Something more than a guy that doesn’t even bother to make a reservation at a restaurant for a date.

Harry still remembers that day in Paris, at Notre Dame, when he saw Zayn standing at the gates with his jawline and wide shoulders, his skinny jeans and ‘cool kids don’t dance’ t-shirt.

‘We’ll just go somewhere, it doesn’t matter,’ Zayn had said as he led Harry to his car, his stupid sports car that Harry had no inclination of getting into. Harry wanted to back out of the date right then and there, because of course it matters where you go on your first date. It’s the place you remember if things work out, it’s the place where you get to know each other, listen to the person sitting opposite you to see if you fit – even barely fit together. It matters because it shows effort and want, instead of the _coolness_ and utter disinterest that Zayn was putting out into the world.

But Harry chucked it off to spontaneity, to being wild and free for one night to see what happens, because he didn’t want to get stuck in all the set ways of his previous relationship. So he said ‘sure’ and got into Zayn’s car, the one he still has, the one Harry forbid him from driving Shelly in.

Harry threw caution at the wind until Zayn’s phone buzzed and the winds shifted. Zayn didn’t want to pick up his phone, but Harry insisted on it, thinking their date could only get better from there on – adventures and all that. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been that wrong in his life.

Right there, sitting next to him, Zayn was talking to someone else, someone he promised he’d meet in no more than half an hour and it didn’t take much for Harry to know exactly who Zayn was talking to.

Looking at his wine glass, Harry doesn’t understand how Zayn could go from a class A asshole, to someone who’s committed to Shelly, who takes care of her and watches the Wiggles with her because it’s her favorite show. Someone who was too eager to agree on cancelling the date altogether, which was great, because Harry didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life right after a breakup, changing into someone that’s looking at Harry with acute awareness of just how badly they screwed up back then. And if Harry’s not mistaken or _that_ drunk, it’s possible that there’s a hint of regret in Zayn’s eyes too.

“Did you know that I told Louis I never wanted to see you again?” Harry licks his lips and settles back in his chair, smiling now at the memory of making Louis apologize – which didn’t happen often.

“You did?”

“Oh yeah, you bet your ass I did. You were so rude and late. You were so late, Zayn. And then you made a booty call right in front of me?” Harry’s shaking his head, but he’s smiling. It’s something he can smile about now, five years later. “So rude.”

Zayn hums, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to make an excuse about his imaginary sister again, which Harry wholeheartedly appreciates.

“And here we are! One big happy family.” Harry feels how his mouth is stretched into a wide smile even though he doesn’t feel happy about it all. Now his cheeks hurt and his head hurts and everything kind of hurts.

Zayn uncrosses his arms, like he’s giving in – Harry feels incredible pride for making that happen – before he sighs, all labored and heavy, like he wasn’t the one that completely ruined their date.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He’s gently pulling Harry up by his arms, getting him to stand and to turn around. “It’s just… It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

“You should take a long shower,” Zayn says, and Harry isn’t drunk enough to not notice he’s avoiding Harry’s words.

“I mean, you really are an asshole,” Harry repeats, because Zayn should know that. He should embrace it. “You’re an asshole and it feels so good to say it to your face, because I’ve been saying it behind your back for years.”

“Oh, really?” Zayn pulls Harry closer to himself to avoid him hitting a wall, making sure they’re heading for the stairs. They stop and Zayn starts taking the stairs slowly, one by one so Harry can follow. “You’re a belligerent drunk, great. That’ll be a fun next eighteen years.”

“It’s just who you are, Zayn, don’t try to–” Harry starts to say when he’s rudely interrupted by the doorbell. “Hey, who’s that?”

“Go upstairs and take a shower.” Zayn’s intense when he’s telling Harry what to do, like a proper grown up and it makes Harry smile, because he really has changed.

So Harry bops his nose once, says, “Okie dokie,” and starts climbing the stairs again. In the end, it doesn’t take him long to sober up, at least enough for him to stop stumbling and to decently wrap his hair in a towel that actually stays on top of his head on the third try. Harry feels better too, his thoughts not as clouded or as pessimistic as before. He’s embracing this shower-house and the fact that he’s not going to touch wine for at least a month.

He pulls on fresh clothes, something a bit more comfortable than his tight jeans, which happens to be what Harry guesses are Zayn’s shorts. He also doesn’t recognize the t-shirt he’s wearing, but it’ll do for whoever is chatting with Zayn enthusiastically enough that Harry can hear them all the way upstairs.

Harry is still a bit loose-limbed as he makes his way to the living room, shaking his hair out of the towel that he slings around his neck. The cool damp feels amazing in the moment, but only in the moment, because as soon as Harry turns around the corner, he’s met with big blue eyes and a laugh he’s almost forgotten. Not quite though.

“Niall?”

Niall turns on his heels, clearly surprised as he looks from Zayn to Harry, his smile not as convincing anymore. “Mr. Styles? I mean, Harry? I mean– Mr. Styles?”

“Hi, yes. What are you doing here?” Harry’s asking Zayn, because he has no idea why Niall, the customer from his bakery who Harry has been flirting with is standing in his living room, talking to Zayn about baby proofing furniture.

“Niall here is the social worker on our case,” Zayn says carefully, slowly like Harry wouldn’t understand if he’d sped up his words. “He’s here to check up on us.”

“You’re the – the social worker?”

“It would seem so, yeah,” Niall smiles awkwardly, biting at his index finger. “I was just talking to Zayn about what a great job you did baby proofing.”

“Oh, no, that’s just –”

“I know, I know,” Zayn quickly interrupts Harry. “We made sure to get everything.” Then he winks at Harry who should probably know what it means, but he’s had too much wine and not enough bath to be as receptive. So instead, Harry nods, blindly agreeing to everything. “Anyway… Apparently, they told us about unannounced visits and so, you know, here we are.”

“Oh,” Harry nods again, though this amount of sudden head movements might not be such a good idea. And Zayn doesn’t look as pleased, moving his hands like he’s prompting Harry to say something, anything else. “Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the tour of the house, I was just putting Shelly down.”

“Um…” Niall doesn’t look impressed and by the looks of what Zayn’s face is doing – about a shade of red away from exploding – that wasn’t the right thing to say.

It’s in the moment when Harry is ready to ask if something is wrong that he hears her, Shelly’s bubbly laugh coming from behind him, when Harry realizes that what he said _is_ wrong. “Oh, right. Must’ve crawled right back here, huh?”

“They’re fast for their age,” Zayn laughs dryly, coming to stand next to Harry so that he can pinch his side.

“Okay…” Niall drawls, still biting at his finger. “Let’s just get started then, shall we?”

“Sure,” Harry claps his hands, startling all of them – even himself. “Sorry, sorry. Yes, let’s talk. Take a seat.”

“Thank you.” Niall takes the armchair opposite the couch that Zayn and Harry sit down on. He opens the folder in his hands and reads for an awkward minute before he closes it again, smiling at them both. “I really just want to get a sense of the both of you and your plans. Like, where do you see yourselves in five years?”

“Oh, oh, I know,” Harry tries to rush, because he’s always been great at answering questions. He waves Zayn’s hands off, moving to sit closer to the edge of the sofa. “So, as you know, I own a small bakery, which is soon to be a small restaurant actually. We’re expanding, you know, new flooring, new furniture. And I’m hoping I’ll have my own frozen-food line in the future, but that’s more of my ten year plan and you asked about the five-year.” Harry’s satisfied with his answer, nodding to himself, when all he can think is _shit_. “Oh wait, I didn’t include Shelly, did I? I mean of course she’s part of my plan, because I would never –”

“No, no, that’s fine. Thank you.” Niall writes something down into his fancy folder before he turns to Zayn, smiling at him too. “What about you, Mr. Malik?”

“Mr. Malik?” Zayn raises his eyebrow and Harry is about a second away from answering instead of him.

“Yes?”

“Oh, right,” Zayn jumps a little. “Well, I’m a tattoo artist and I know how that sounds,” he rushes to say, when Niall reaches for his pen again. “But it’s a steady job with steady income.”

“Okay.” Niall reassures. “So what exactly does your job entail?”

“I, um, I make tattoos? I sketch them and then, um, I ink them on people?” Zayn’s slowing his words until he’s sitting there, looking at Niall a little lost and a little sad, the way his face was almost blank those first couple of days in this house. And that’s not good, Harry didn’t like it then and he doesn’t like it now.

“He’s and artist,” Harry adds, mouthing his words at Niall.

“I guess,” Zayn starts again, like he’s picking up speed again, revving up for more. “My boss is grooming me to take over the business, so I’ll be the part owner in a couple of years.”

Niall narrows his eyes and pouts a little, finally reaching for his pen. “So. Mr. Myers,” Niall says and then judging from their confused looks, he explains, “Derek, your lawyer, said that you’re both single and presently not engaged in a relationship.”

“Um?” Zayn says while Harry hums.

Niall shifts his eyes to Harry, who would again understand the sentiment without wine blurring his vision, but then as soon as Niall asks, “You’re not sleeping together?” it’s not that hard to understand.

“Oh, no,” Harry is shaking his head when Zayn says a little too loudly, “I’m an asshole.” But both their points come across as a solid _no_.

“Okay, good. I mean – What I mean _is_ , that it makes things a lot simpler. Your situation is complicated as it is.” Niall sounds so sympathetic and with his eyes conveying empathy and compassion, it’s easy for Harry to remember why he liked him before – before all of this. Niall is funny and charming, steady and dependable, because he always ordered the same sandwich at the bakery, tuna with mozzarella, which is the best one, Harry would agree. “Two single people living under the same room, raising a child together,… It’s complicated enough without the added complication of, you know, _that_.”

“Trust me, we will not be complicating anything with _that_.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. “I get plenty of _that_ elsewhere.”

“From anyone who offers, right?” Harry adds under his breath.

“Why,” Zayn leans back so only Harry will hear him. “You offering?”

“Listen,” Niall pipes up again. For a second, Harry forgot he was still here. “You two seem like sweet, doe-eyed people, who are having the worst year of their lives right now, which is completely understandable. But I’ll be honest with you.” Niall makes a show of closing his folder and clicking his pen close. And it fits the atmosphere perfectly if you ask Harry. “Wanna have a glass of wine after dinner?” he asks, looking at Harry. “Go for it, I don’t care. I don’t care if you’re surgeons or tattoo artists or whatever. The obstacle I see here is you two and whether or not you’re cut out to be parents, because we want to avoid Shelly losing more people that she’s close to. And your friends thought you could do this.” Niall stands up, so that he’s looking down at them when he delivers what Harry can already tell are going to be his last words. Sighing, Niall shakes his head. “I don’t want to prove them wrong and I don’t think you want to do that either.”

—————

As soon as Niall steps out of their house and Zayn closes the door after him, they pick up their pace. Shelly is bathed, dressed and down in her crib in less than twenty minutes, which Harry thinks is a world record. He takes another shower, ice cold this time to really sober him up. It does the job, except for how it also wakes up him. So when Zayn tip-toes out of her room, Harry gives him a to-do list of cleaning up the living room and bathroom, while Harry scrubs down the kitchen.

They’re a well-oiled machine, working around each other and doing what the other needs without a word. When Harry can’t reach the top shelves in the kitchen, Zayn walks in with a chair from the dining room, climbing up and handing Harry the plates so he can wash them over. Then Zayn is looking confused around the back patio, so Harry goes to the pantry to get him the broom he’s looking for. Zayn pats his side as a thank you.

They work well together, so in less than an hour, the house is clean, spotless and smelling of lemons, which is again another world record, at least for the Styles-Malik-Shelly household. Their cooperation and good moods last all of a day, until it’s time to put Shelly down the next evening and it all goes straight to s-h-i-t.

“Why won’t you stop crying?” Harry whines for the umpteenth time. “Please stop crying.”

“You have to rock her, Harry. You’re not rocking here right.”

“Wow,” Harry turns around with a sobbing Shelly in his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Thanks for the tip, Zayn. How stupid of me, of course I wasn’t rocking her right and that’s why she’s crying.”

Zayn’s raising his hands up before Harry even finishes his sentence. “Can you stop with the hostility, please? I’m just trying to help.”

“Can you hear that?” Harry stops pacing up and down the hallway, looking up at the ceiling while Shelly keeps crying in his arms. “That’s the sound of you _not_ helping.”

“Oh, come on.” It’s actually fun to see Zayn get frustrated so easily when there’s a helpless baby crying right next to him. What’s not fun though, are Shelly’s tears, which haven’t stopped falling for too long now. She’s not the only one helpless here – Harry and Zayn don’t know what to do or how to handle this. The last time she was so moody, they fed her and she was fine. But they’ve tried that already and she only started screaming more, higher and patchier, deafening them all in the process.

Harry doesn’t know when the last time he felt this clueless was. Not a single idea has popped into his head about how he could make Shelly feel better if that’s even the problem. He’s tried feeding her, giving her a bottle of warm milk, walking her around the house, pacing, rocking, singing and nothing, absolutely nothing works. Nothing he did improved her mood even a little, just enough for a second or two of silence so he could gather his thoughts and think of something better at least.

“Hey, wait.” Zayn’s reaching for Shelly and Harry’s more than happy to be relieved from walking duty for the time being. But Zayn’s walking away from him, fast as anything, so Harry’s trying to keep up, seeing what Zayn has thought of now. Harry hopes it’s not more rocking.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks once Zayn is grabbing his coat.

“The car.”

“What?” Harry’s grabbing his jacket too though, following Zayn to their driveway. “Why?”

“I read somewhere that driving around pacifies them? I don’t know…”

“You read that somewhere?” Harry asks, utterly bewildered, as he helps Zayn strap Shelly into her car seat. “And you only thought of it now?”

“Lay off, at least I thought of something.”

“Hey,” Harry points at him over the roof of the car, “I thought of plenty things, it’s just that none of them worked.”

“So what? You want an award for that?” Zayn says and he’s the one with an unimpressed look now. “Just get in.”

To all of their relief, Shelly stops crying when they’re a block over. No more than seven seconds of being in the car and she’s quiet, just slightly hiccupping as she looks out the window. It’s another two blocks and she’s falling asleep, Zayn smiling as he keeps an eye on her in the rearview mirror. Harry’s smiling too, relieved and thankful, enjoying the silence for as long as it’ll last.

He leans back in the seat and thinks of Niall now, wondering if he’d think they did a good job with pacifying Shelly. It took them some time to figure it out, but they did it in the end and now she’s sound asleep, next to Harry, sucking on her bottom lip. But then Harry corrects himself, but they didn’t do it – Zayn did. He thought about this all by himself, read it somewhere, because when he’s not at work or plying with Shelly, he’s got one of those kids’ books in his hands, reading about _how to_ this or that.

Zayn did it in the end, Harry thinks, closing his eyes for a second of rest. They moving around and around the neighborhood, driving slowly and carefully, because Zayn avoids potholes and speed bumps as best as he can. It takes Harry another block before he’s asleep too.

—————

Some changes come easy to you, like the shift from dawn to day, a tide drifting further and further away from the beach, barely reaching your feet in the sand. It’s easy to follow the motion of some changes, where you just have to click and get used to it – a new school, a new or another person in your life. It’s harder when you move, when you leave someone behind, when you lose something forever.

Leaving your hometown, packing your boxes and moving, or your best friend dying too soon – those are the things that hurt the most, the changes that sting somewhere behind your ribs. They’re the changes you can physically feel, that leave tangible proof behind, like an empty house or a one-year-old baby you’re supposed to take care of.

That’s not the change you need from time to time, like a new outfit or a haircut. You don’t sporadically choose to get your heart broken or to break someone else’s. You don’t just decide to move in with someone you don’t even like or to raise a child with them. That kind of a change doesn’t just happen, you’re forced into it. Like a bad nightmare, it sucks you in, but you can’t get out, because there’s no waking up from this – not from this. Not for Harry.

There’s an echo to it though, because it’s underlined with the possibility of saying no, of turning around and walking away. He could’ve left Shelly with someone else, he could’ve declined and so could’ve Zayn – on paper. On paper, they both could’ve shrugged, said no thank you and goodbye. But really, in this life, in this reality, there’s not a single scenario where either of them walk away from Shelly or turn away. There isn’t a possibility that their lives could be different from what they are right now. And Harry, well, he’s still getting used to the change, to the little changes that happen along with the big one, but he’s doing fine, he thinks, optimistically. He’s okay with it – with most of it – and so is Zayn.

—————

A change that Harry’s been waiting to happen is getting a contractor for the bakery’s expansion. He’s happy with the business he’s created from scratch, from the ground up, but it hasn’t been enough for a while now. So he talked it over with Lily, his main chef and baker, and she excitedly agreed to more room, more tables and a bigger offer of food. Pastries, breakfast and lunch with a good cup of coffee; an expansion they’ve both been waiting for.

So when he gets _the_ call at seven in the morning on a Friday, Harry jumps out of bed and welcomes the change with open arms and a wicked smile, too bright and too wide, his cheeks already hurting. But he doesn’t care, he really doesn’t, because it’s happening and it’s happening today.

They got the contractor that they wanted, the _Build & Build_ brothers that warned them about their busy schedule, but Harry knew they were right, that their quality of work was exactly what they wanted with this remodel. No half-assing or sloppy work, not on his watch, not for his business.

He walks downstairs and sees Shelly’s already made a mess of herself with his home-made smoothie she’s finally decided on eating. “Good morning,” he sings, ruffling her hair and bopping her nose, smiling at Zayn.

“What’re you so cherry about? Did you finally get laid?”

“Even better,” Harry beams. “I finally got that contractor I told you about?”

“Oh,” Zayn jumps a little. “The _Build_ guys? Really?”

Harry is beyond happy at this point. “Yeah, I know. I’m so nervous for out meeting this afternoon.”

“Wait. This afternoon? Today?” Zayn asks carefully, handing Harry a cup of coffee.

“Yes. Why?” Harry takes a sip and the coffee just happens to taste especially good this morning. Maybe it’s just him though.

“Well, because I’ve got to go to a tattoo convention, remember? I leave in an hour, so you agreed to take Shelly today.”

“Shit.” If Harry was built differently, he’d wonder how come his happiness usually only lasts for five minutes, like someone is out to get him or everything he does has a _best before_ date. But he doesn’t dwell, because he doesn’t have the time or the patience for it. This cannot be happening right now. “Shit, shit, shit. And you have to go?”

Zayn chuckles. “I’m one of the main names, so yeah, pretty sure I do. Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Harry really does try his hardest to not wonder why he just can’t catch a break. “It’s fine, I’m fine. I can take her with me. Right Shelly?”

She gurgles at Harry, happy and full now, though judging by the stain on her bib, she didn’t actually eat all that much. Her hair’s grown, Harry notices then, a little longer, still fair and slightly curly, as if she’s molding herself after the people that take care of her. Harry can still see Louis’ eyes in hers though, that mischievous glint always present somehow and now the curls remind him of Liam from that one time he let his hair grow out.

Harry’s head is a mess, so he shakes it to clear it a little. “We need to leave now though, so can you get her ready for me?” He looks at Zayn who’s nodding.

“Of course.” And without another word or at least a quiet protest that Harry was more than half expecting, Zayn walks over to Shelly and goes to pick her up. “Come on little lady, let’s get you cleaned up.”

—————

It wasn’t a good idea. Harry should’ve found a sitter or a friend, or maybe someone from their neighborhood to watch Shelly for these couple of hours, because up until now, all she’s done is cry. Cry, cry and cry some more. And all Harry’s done is try to convince her to stop.

They were dressed and ready to go at half past eight, which meant they’d be at the bakery almost an hour before schedule. And that part was good, they weren’t late, both their outfits were still clean and wrinkle-free, and Harry still had most of his hair.

But then as soon as the _Build & Build_ brothers walked in, Shelly got fussy. Harry had poorly decided to just do the meeting with her in his arms, sitting on her lap while the grownups talked about material and floor-plans and expenses. But as soon as Harry reached out his hand to shake his contactors’– Trevor and Tyler – hands, Shelly whined, trying to get down from Harry’s lap which was not happening.

Harry knew she was fussy, that if he kept doing what he was doing she’d start crying, or worse – screeching like she’d gotten into the habit of doing. And it’s exactly the reason why he brought about a million toys with him to the meeting, where Trevor or Tyler, Harry’s not sure, started looking at him a little sideways, as if he didn’t know what he was doing when he gave Shelly a book to read. She loved books though, liked looking at the pictures and pointing at god knows what at the pages.

She really does love books though, just not today as it happens. Not when Harry’s sure the brothers are about to leave his small bakery and never come back.

“God, I’m so sorry about this. My, um… My roommate was supposed to have her today, but our plans got a little mixed up,” Harry smiles shyly, seeing if he can still pull off that innocent look from when he was a kid.

“Your roommate?” Trevor, Harry thinks, asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, nodding slowly as he continues. “Our best friends adopted Shelly here, but they passed a couple of months ago.” Harry feels shame wash over him, guilt raising in his throat, but he needs this, he really needs these brothers to agree to do this. “They named me and my friend as Shelly’s guardians, so now we’re doing our best, you know, with what we have.” It’s pushing it, Harry knows, but he’s past it by this point.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Can I hold her a bit?” Tyler asks cautiously, but he’s already reaching out for Shelly. There’s a second of doubt before Harry hands her over. But the second passes as quickly as Harry realizes that he has nothing to lose here. “I’ve got two myself. Three and seven year old. They’re a handful, I know.”

Harry smiles, relieved. “I bet, yeah. It’s hard to keep up, right? It’s can’t be just me.”

“Oh no,” Trevor laughs. “I’ve got a brand new boy and he’s what? Three months, I think, and we still haven’t gotten through the night yet.”

“He’s been talking my ear off about it,” Tyler pipes up, but he’s paying more attention to Shelly now, cooing at her while he crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out. And it works, because Shelly’s back to her giggly self, trying to get her hand on Tyler’s face.

“Look. We can see that you know what you want to do with this place and it’s definitely got potential.” Trevor seems a lot more sympathetic than he was a minute ago, smiling at Harry while he searcher through the papers on the table. “Look over the contract, see if there’s something you don’t like, whatever, send it back and we’ll get it in order. As soon as you sign it, we can start working.”

“Really?” Harry beams, he knows he does, but he can’t help himself. “Lily!”

She stumbles out of the kitchen, her face looking too alarmed for the good news. “What? What?”

“We got them!”

“Harry.” She chastises under her breath, but her round face is splitting in a huge grin. “They’re right there.”

—————

It has to be past eleven when Harry hears Zayn stumbling through the front door. He’s bundled up under a blanket on a rocking chair, his thoughts drifting around as Shelly sleeps next to him in her crib. She’s been sleeping soundly, quiet and calm in her crib for hours.

It was a big day for both of them. Harry looked over the contract as soon as Tyler and Trevor left, sent it to Derek who looked it over and gave Harry the green light to sign. And then while Harry talked to Lily at one of their tables, his customers fussed over Shelly, praising her golden locks and big blue eyes, how well behaved she was and what a pretty doll she had. It was the first time since the accident that she was surrounded by so many different people and she did behave really well for it. Even with the exception of not wanting to give a little boy his toy truck back after he so graciously offered it to her. Harry had to pry it from her little hands, but besides that, she was really good. And Harry was really good too. It really was a good day.

But now that he hears bangs downstairs, muffled laughter and shushed cursed words, Harry’s sure the hour that’s left is not gonna be as good.

Zayn’s in the middle of trying to pull his laced up boot off his leg – unsuccessfully, of course – when he finally sees Harry standing at the bottom of the stairs with a blanket tucked over his shoulders.

“Had a good time at the convention?”

Zayn chuckles, throwing off his balance a little. “Yeah. Did some sick ink today.”

“Mmm? That’s good. Did you go to a bar afterwards?”

“I had to celebrate, didn’t I?” Zayn laughs, shaking his head and Harry wonders if that deep mark on the side of his neck is a bite mark or just a shadow.

“Didn’t have to get drunk though,” Harry laments, tightening the muscles in his arms.

Zayn exhales deeply and Harry swears he could smell the alcohol on his breath from a mile away. “What is this? Am I not allowed to have fun?”

“Not if you’re gonna make a ruckus when you come home so late.”

“Oh, right.” Zayn’s nodding as he kicks off his boot too loudly, supporting what just Harry said. “When I drink, I’m irresponsible. But when you do it, it’s fine right? It’s just unwinding, nothing more than a ‘glass’ of wine.”

“Thank you for the air quotes.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Could you be any less serious right now?”

“Yeah, you know what? I can be deadly fucking serious if that’s what you want...” Zayn’s perfectly still where he stands now. He doesn’t waver or stumble and he’s not laughing in any way now. Harry’s not too sure if it’s what he wanted to achieve. “I mean, why should I pretend to be happy? I’m miserable, let me just be miserable.”

“And I’m not? Is that what you’re trying to say?” Harry’s closing to the end of his tether, slipping towards the end of the rope, but he’s not going to fall, he’s sure of that. If he’s sure of anything, it’s that he’s not letting go that easily.

“I ruined my life for her.”

“I’m sorry parenting isn’t as fun as you thought it was going to be.”

“My life didn’t suck before this, Harry.” It hurts. Zayn’s words cut so close to the bone, that Harry wants to give Zayn the benefit of the doubt, because he’s drunk and he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’ll take it back tomorrow, Harry knows, but no matter how much benefit Harry gives him, it still fucking hurts.

“My life did not suck. My life was great,” Harry says, serious too now, taking a step towards Zayn just so he doesn’t get caught up and raises his voice. “I worked hard, I was my own boss, I made my own hours. I had free time.”

Zayn laughs dryly, his stance softening just by that much. “To do what? Bake more? Read another book?”

“God.”

“You don’t know what a great life _is_ , Harry.” Zayn steps forward too, sober, clear headed, choosing his words carefully, the ones he knows Harry won’t be able to forgive. But with a second’s pause, Zayn must realize they’re passed the point of letting it go now. “I had a great life. I make tattoos for a living for fuck’s sake. Guy’s buy me drinks and girls throw themselves at me.” Zayn takes another step closer, but Harry stands his ground even if he feels like he should run away. “I tattooed a girl today, this beautiful back piece all along her spine and around her hips. Some of my best work, honestly, and you know what I did? I held on to those beautiful hips when I fucked her later too.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, I’m fucking awesome and so was my life.”

“Of course you think that’s awesome, because all you care about is getting laid!” Harry steels himself, reins himself back, because waking up Shelly over this isn’t worth it. But nothing could stop Harry from saying, “Even Liam was embarrassed by you. He just never said it to your face, because he was a better person than you’ll ever be,” because he wants to hurt Zayn. He wants to see how his expression changes from vindictive to broken, something glinting in those eyes besides selfishness.

And it gets the job done, but only for that fraction of a second, because in the next, Zayn’s face is closed off, determined and more serious than Harry’s ever seen. “You know what? You should get laid yourself, except to have sex you have to find somebody who can stand you first.”

Zayn turns, grabs his boots and leaves without another word.

—————

You can’t fight a change – Harry found that out the hard way. There’s nothing you can do to will the tide not to turn, to beg the wind to not bring the storm or the rain not to come. One minute it’s sunny outside with barely even a cloud here or there and you’re walking around with a sheer shirt and loose shorts, soaking up the sun and the heat and the good mood that it brings with it. But in the next, there’s a shift, an inaudible _click_ that sets it all off – the dark clouds, the looming shadows and the downpour you can’t outrun. Even if you wanted to, even if you started dancing in the rain and offering the sky everything you could think of, it wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t – not for you and not for anyone else.

And it’s the same with changes, the kind that leave a scar on your skin and the kinds that are as quiet as a whisper. It’s the feeling of a single breath on the back of your neck, leading goose bumps down your back and across your chest that paralyzes you from your head down, all the way down to your toes. It’s in the span of that single breath that your world could turn upside down, flip around and leave you naked, standing in the middle of the street in the dead of night.

One minute, Harry was in love and happy – so _so_ happy – with the man he thought he’d spend the rest of his life together. But Harry didn’t just think it, he wanted it. He wanted to see Alex get on one knee in front of him with a simple silver band in his hand, proposing a life for Harry, a family, a happily ever after that Harry would’ve jumped to take. Harry wanted to live in a big house in the suburbs then, he wanted to have kids – two or three – he wanted a cat and a dog, a big backyard for them to have Sunday barbeques on with their friends. Harry was so happy one minute, so in love with Alex that he was ready to only use the pronoun ‘we’ for the rest of his life.

And then in the next, the pronoun was gone, the house was gone, the picnics, the house, the kids – everything was gone, even his best friends. It all vanished in a massive disappearing act, until all Harry was left with was a life he’s always wanted – just not like this. Never like this.

It took a second, feels like not even that, for Harry to lose everything. For his life to change so drastically, that now Harry doesn’t even recognize himself anymore. He doesn’t know what he wants, what he sees himself doing from one day to the next, because he’s learnt that changes happen and that no matter what, there’s nothing you can do to fight it.

—————

Harry doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the TV for, but it’s been a while. He isn’t even watching it, no idea what channel he turned on when he sat on the couch. It’s background noise that makes him feel less alone, like he can pretend the house isn’t as empty as it feels. But he’d still hear a pin dropping, it would still shake Harry to his core, no matter how hard he tries to zone out.

The things he made Zayn hear, the things Harry didn’t even mean – he’s not proud of what he said. And it’s exactly why Harry doesn’t like confrontations. He never means what he says when he’s angry. Harry’s not even an angry person to begin with, he doesn’t let things get pent up like that, doesn’t let them built and built until he can’t take it anymore and he has to explode all over someone else. Harry prefers talking things through, using your words for good instead of misguided notions that aren’t even true. Not even a little.

Liam was always talking Zayn up, beaming about him and gushing at anyone that would listen, telling how amazing his best friend was. They met as kids, the same old story that Louis and Harry were so used to explaining about themselves that it was strange listening to how it happened to someone else too – the bully, the kid getting picked on and a savior, just the names different. Liam saved Zayn from getting pushed into a locker and just like Louis and Harry, it bonded them for life.

It bonded them close enough for Liam to defend Zayn every time Harry got his hands on a bigger glass of wine than usual, and he and Louis would start about how awful Harry’s and Zayn’s date had been . There wasn’t much Liam was able to do, but he never backed down, never agreed or nodded just because he didn’t want to be a part of their bad-mouthing Zayn. And not once did Liam ever tell Harry that he was ashamed of Zayn, because it just wasn’t true. It couldn’t be, not with the kind of friendship they had – the one Harry had with Louis – but Zayn doesn’t know that now.

Zayn could be anywhere now, thinking he was a disgrace, that his friendship wasn’t what he thought it was, and there’s no one he could go to that would tell him otherwise. Not anymore, not after what happened.

Harry thinks he could’ve done that, that he could’ve been that person for Zayn now, when all they have is each other and Shelly. He can’t imagine Zayn not telling Shelly what a sunshine of a person Liam was, but now that all had been said and done, Harry might’ve ruined that too. Zayn might tell Shelly that Liam wasn’t a good person and all Harry has been able to think about as the TV continues to buzz in front of him, is how he has to fix that. He has to make it right. He has to change it.

—————

Harry waits for Zayn to come back. He didn’t really think it through when he decided he wasn’t going to go to sleep until he speaks with Zayn, because Harry might have been sitting there waiting for hours if not days. But that’s not how long it takes in the end.

Half a movie Harry wasn’t paying attention to is all it takes for the front door to open again, a much quieter and sober Zayn walking inside. Harry keeps his eyes on him as he tucks off his boots slowly this time, more careful to not make too much noise, but then Harry turns back to the TV, unable to watch him anymore when Zayn sees him sitting in the living room with only the light from the screen illuminating the dark house. He must look a sight.

Zayn pats to the living room and comes to stand at the doorway, his eyes still on Harry. There’s a moment where Harry doesn’t know what’s going to happen, if he should speak first or if he should wait until Zayn tells him everything he has coming. But Harry realizes then that he actually knows Zayn, whether he likes him or not, and he knows that Zayn isn’t going to be the first to speak, so trying to find his voice again, Harry clears his throat and simply says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Zayn sighs, leaving Harry to hang on the edge a bit more, until he says, “It’s fine,” and walks over to sit next to Harry.

“You know, I broke both my legs when I was fifteen,” Zayn starts with a sigh, and Harry knows he’s about to hear a story – a Liam and Zayn story he hasn’t heard in too long. “I couldn’t walk for months and my mom didn’t let me leave my bed until the casts came off. And Liam spent every day that summer with me in my room, watching movies and TV-shows, and reading every comic he could get his hands on.” It feels like Zayn’s back there, lying broken in his bed while Liam reads him those words in bubbles, getting into each character to make Zayn laugh. “Everyone else was at the beach, but Liam was there with me every single day. And now, I can’t leave him like that when he needs me for once. Even if he’s gone. I just… I can’t.”

Harry can feel Zayn’s conviction, his determination, and the finality to his words. It’s truer than anything Zayn’s ever said to Harry before. It’s clearer than a cloudless sky that he means them more than he means anything else.

So Harry smiles at him kindly, just enough to let him know that he’s heard him, that Harry knows what he means, and leans back. “You know, I remember when they brought Shelly home and Liam had her room painted.”

“The clouds?” Zayn asks, smiling too, because they all know this story. But Harry was there, Harry actually heard all of it and saw about a half, when Louis stormed out of the house with Shelly in his arms and Liam quickly behind them. It was a mess.

“The clouds,” he nods. “Liam was so happy, because he knew how badly Louis wanted the ceiling to look like the sky, but then when Louis walked in and smelled the fumes from the fresh paint… he lost it. He wouldn’t let Shelly sleep in there for a week, because he thought she was going to get poisoned or something, and Liam didn’t get it.”

“He always said that he didn’t smell anything, that Louis was making it up,” Zayn muses, leaning back on the couch too, so that their shoulders are almost touching. “So what? Is the moral of the story that it’s okay if we’re horrible parents and we wanna kill each other half the time?”

Harry laughs. “Two-thirds actually.”

“Yeah.”

“I think we have to stop trying to be them,” Harry admits, to himself and to Zayn. “I think we have to do this by ourselves.”

There’s a pause when Zayn throws his head back and Harry guesses he’s thinking of something, preparing himself for a speech maybe, but then he simply says, “I hate this house so much, you know,” like it’s time they both come clean. “It’s like a mausoleum in here.” Zayn looks around, moving his eyes over the countless photos and painting over the walls, one frame right next to the other. There’s an oil painting or two of flowers and landscapes, but the rest of them are of Louis and Liam with Shelly in between them, smiling and happy and thinking they have decades of life in front of them. “There are so many of their faces, just, looking right at us all the time. It’s creepy, right?”

Harry heaves a breath even if it feels like it’s all he’s been doing for weeks now, ever since his life got sidetracked, stuck on a different route, flipped upside down, but he nods as well. Him and Zayn need to start living for themselves and for Shelly, but mostly for themselves if they want to remain as sane as possible while raising a one-year-old.

“They’re…” Harry starts to say, but it’s hard, it’s not right to say it, doesn’t feel like he should be saying it all at, but it’s time. It’s been long enough and Harry thinks it’s finally time to stop tiptoeing around this. So he clears his throat as gently as he can and he starts again, his voice more certain this time. “They’re not coming back.”

A second passes before Harry feels brave enough to see what Zayn’s face is doing, if he’s frowning or closed off, or if he’s just shrugging in the indifferent way he does. But as Harry looks over at him, Zayn’s already looking back at him with an expression Harry doesn’t know how to place. He’s not exactly smiling, but his eyes are crinkled a little, and Harry is pretty sure it’s Zayn’s way of saying he knows, that he agrees, that he understands completely and utterly and like no one else ever will.

It’s another second of just sitting there next to each other with their eyes locked, before Harry shrugs himself, feeling a little lost and a little sad, but still relieved, like he can finally unwind now, relax after weeks when Zayn moves to wrap his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry automatically leans his head down until he’s tucked under Zayn’s arm, fits right into the curve of his body. He feels how Zayn sinks his fingers into his arm a little, like he’s saying it’s okay if Harry stays like that a while longer.

Harry’s just comfortable enough to accept Zayn’s offer.

—————

This time, Harry can feel the shift. It’s less like the tops of trees turning into softer, warmer colors from greens and bright yellows, and more like that feeling you get when you wake up determined, with a nod, a plan all formed and finalized in your mind. And it isn’t subtle either.

The day after Harry fell asleep leaning into Zayn’s warmth – practically wrapping himself into his arms like a moth drawn to a light – and then woke up to gentle fingers tangling in his curls and even gentler whispers of his name, they start to take down the framed photos. One by one, a face at a time.

It was never their intent to put away all of Louis’ and Liam’s memories that hung around the walls, like they were never there, like they aren’t still and forever will be Shelly’s parents. It does make the house feel more open though, lighter and strangely, less empty once there’s only a photo or two left. They’re still there, still smiling at Harry from the living room when he walks by, but now he’s smiling at himself as well.

It was Zayn’s idea really, which isn’t a surprise since he’s the one who’s supposed to be the artistic one – or so he says – but the photo of them with Shelly sitting in the middle, all three giggling and happy, will be nice to look at from time to time. It’s a nice photo too; Harry looked good that day in his flamingo printed shirt and Zayn, well, he doesn’t look awful – does he ever? – either. The more Harry stands there with one hand on his hip and a duster in the other, the more he likes it. It’s what a family photo should look like, it fits and it’s something him and Zayn can show Shelly when she’s older and she knows what happened. Why there are two photos of two families placed right next to each other. It can remind her that she’ll always _have_ a family, no matter what, no matter with whom.

But that’s just the first shift. Harry reorganizes and redecorates his bedroom – the guest bedroom – to look more like his and less like a random room he’s been crashing in. A few candles here, a new throw pillow there, new sheets and it’s much better, more like a home, like he could live there.

Zayn also retires his stupid sports car to the garage. Permanently. Or at least for a very, very long time, until Shelly’s all grown up and has a family of her own. Even if Zayn was a bit apprehensive about actually throwing old sheets over the thing, he quickly made his mind up when Harry asked him how he thought Shelly would feel, losing more of her family to car accidents. Harry was actually proud of them for not getting into a fight about it.

So things changed again, more controlled this time, and it was good. They were good, Harry decided while standing in the doorway of Shelly’s room while Zayn sang her gently to sleep. Changes were good. A change was exactly what they needed.

—————

Harry’s convinced Shelly wants to walk. He is absolutely positive that she’s ready to take her first step today and no one can tell him otherwise.

He woke up feeling good, well-rested and without a single crick in his back. Having a quick shower to chase away the summer night’s sweat clinging to his skin, he walked into Shelly’s room slowly, carefully, even if he did want to wake her.

It’s not something he’s gotten used to, the peacefulness of Shelly’s face as she sleeps, as she dreams of things Harry probably can’t even imagine, without a single worry etched between her eyebrows. Another thing he hasn’t gotten used to though, is the way she flips by a hundred and eighty degrees in her sleep, budging up so she’s touching the railings of her crib with her head and toes, her blankie wrapped tight around her. He doesn’t know why she does it, if it feels comforting to her to be so surrounded by something from all sides, but Harry doesn’t really care either, because without a fault, seeing her like that puts a stupid smile on his face every morning.

They still haven’t gotten used to waking up in the morning, still don’t like to be roused from sleep, even if Harry makes sure to start off slow, with gentle drawls of her name as he runs a knuckle over her plump cheek. No matter what Harry does, however, Shelly still wakes up with a whine. It’s illogical and idiotic, Harry knows, but he’s positive Shelly gets it from Zayn, especially the grumpy pout she sends Harry when she finally opens her eyes.

“Good morning little lady,” Harry coos down at her softly, freeing her from her blanket. “Did you sleep okay? Had lots of good dreams?”

It’s become somewhat of their routine, really. Zayn’s the one who gives her a bath most nights, and then sings her to sleep, rocking her from side to side until he puts her down in her crib – the right way up Harry hopes – and turns on her nightlight. And Harry’s the one she wakes up with, the one to change her nappy and dress her up in whatever she decided she wants to wear.

It’s a whole system that Harry has. He puts her on the changing table and sets out options for her: puffy skirts and overalls, pink, blue and yellow t-shirts with some sort of happy animal print on the front. And lets Shelly pick her outfit. On bad days, when she’s especially cranky from having to wake up, she gets dressed in the clothes that don’t end up being kicked or thrown on the floor, but it works either way. Harry’s very proud of his system.

Today, Shelly opted for a beautiful pink summer dress that accentuate her blue blue eyes that Harry’s beginning to associate more with Shelly than anyone else. It’s a pretty dress and Harry doesn’t forget to tell her as much.

“That’s a marvelous choice, Miss Shelly,” he agrees, as he makes sure the nappy isn’t too tight. Him and Zayn finally got a hold on putting them on the right way around. “It’s gonna get really warm soon, you know, so we should go shopping for more dresses next week.”

Shelly claps happily and Harry takes that to mean a very exited _yes_ for more dresses.

He slips the dress past her head and pulls her hands through the openings with ease. She must really like this dress, he thinks as he picks her up and bops her nose, making her giggle.

“I see we’re in a good mood as well.” They start making their way to the kitchen. “I’m not that shabby myself actually. I feel like today’s gonna be a good day, huh? What do you say?” Harry might also be convinced Shelly’s about ready to say her first words. He can feel good changes happing all around.

His train of thoughts are interrupted by Zayn though, who’s standing right at the bottom of the stairs with a blonde stuck to his lips.

Harry clears his throat loudly – maybe a little too loudly – and starts his descent with his eyes cast down, not really in the mood to see how Zayn caresses the guy’s cheek when they separate. Harry might still catch that part though.

“Good morning,” he says, again slightly too loud and energetic. “Breakfast?”

“Oh no, no,” Zayn rushes to say. Harry’s pretty sure he hears an underlying panic in Zayn’s voice. “He doesn’t have time, do you? Have to get to work soon.”

“Well, I mean…” The blonde starts, but Zayn interrupts him with a quick, “I mean _I_ have to get to work. I’m already kind of late. I’ll call you, yeah?”

Harry picks up on a something that sounds a lot like another kiss as he’s walking away from them and then clearly, the sound of their front door opening and closing. As soon as he hears footsteps though, Harry can’t help himself, he has to say, “I thought you weren’t working today?”

“I’m not,” Zayn grumbles, clearly unimpressed. “And thank you for that. He almost stayed for fu– freaking breakfast.”

“He?”

Zayn grumbles again, even deeper than before, but Harry can see him scratching at the back of his neck now, as he steps closer for a cup of coffee. “Jim, Jack, John,… One of those.”

Harry laughs. “You mean Carter?”

“Carter! That’s the one.” Zayn’s nodding, seemingly proud of himself for remembering, when. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“He forgot his jacket. And his wallet. I guess you are calling him.”

“Ah, sh –”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupts sharply just quickly enough. “She’s almost talking, you can’t curse.”

“Harry. She’s barely mumbling. I think it’s gonna be a while before we get whole words.”

“You don’t know that.” Harry’s making Shelly her favorite breakfast, an apple and banana smoothie that she almost tries to taste, and he’s finding this conversation distracting. “And if you keep cursing, I’m going to call the three guys you brought home last week.”

“You are, huh?” Zayn smirks over the cup of coffee in his hands. “Just the guys?”

“Ugh, you’re gross.”

“At least I’m getting some.”

Harry shivers. “If you’re fishing for praise…”

“Oh, I got a lot of that last night, but thanks for the thought.”

Harry shivers again. He decides to focus on feeding Shelly instead, since that’s gonna be more productive and a lot less nauseating. But, then Harry wonders. “How do you even meet these people? If you’re not working, you’re here with me and Shelly.”

Zayn chuckles. It already sounds like something Harry isn’t going to like hearing. “I’ve got my ways.”

Harry choo-choos a spoonful towards Shelly’s mouth, but she just makes a face and turns it to the side, decidedly not eating. “You a Casanova or what?”

“Well, no one said I don’t meet them at the shop.”

That makes Harry stop mid choo. “You sleep with your clients? Come on, that’s too easy.”

“I don’t see you bringing any of your customers home,” Zayn deadpans, which, okay, that might be true.

“Not yet,” Harry says under his breath, but Zayn must not hear it, because he walks over to them wordlessly, dumping a fist full of _Captain Crunch_ in front of Shelly. Which she eats, the traitor.

“I could, you know, fix you up if you wanted?” Zayn says, but he doesn’t sound as happy to do it as Harry knows Louis would. As Louis did, way back when, talking up a certain someone to Harry long enough for him to agree to a date. That apparently wasn’t even a date. Whatever.

But Harry could go on a date, maybe, just to see if he still has it – whatever _it_ even was. Maybe he’d like to get all dressed up, to feel the butterflies before meeting someone new, someone that might be important one day. Harry might actually want to go on a date. In that very second, because as soon as he starts thinking about the nerves and the small talk, the awkwardness and the painful rejection he doesn’t want to either give or receive, he’s already shaking his head. “No, but thanks for the thought.” Besides, if he did actually wanted to get back out there, there’s a certain social worker’s number he’s been keeping in his wallet just for that.

“Suit yourself,” Zayn says, and even without looking, Harry can see his shrug, can almost feel it and it’s no less annoying than all the previous ones.

Harry huffs a disappointed breath when Shelly finishes her dry cereal instead of Harry’s delicious smoothie. He picks her up and sits her down on the floor, leaves her to do her own thing. Which is of course, crawling to the living room to watch her Wiggles show. All Harry can think of as he starts on the smoothie himself is Ben’s promise.

“Harry –” Zayn starts to say, but Harry’s done talking about his non-existent dating life.

“Zayn, it’s fine. I don’t feel like going on a date with someone right now. I’ve got other priorities at the moment.” It’s not exactly a lie.

“No, Harry –”

“You have the same priorities too, you know. And maybe you should focus on that a bit more than on sleeping with your clients.”

“Listen –”

“Is that even legal?” Harry thinks that even if it is, it shouldn’t be. There’s just something unsanitary about that. It doesn’t sound very legal at least, he thinks, because Zayn doesn’t answer him this time. Harry nods to himself, wondering if sleeping with one of his customers would be the same thing and if it is, how he wouldn’t really have a problem with that. It’s different, Harry’s sure. Then again, social worker does sound pretty off limits, but maybe there’s a loop in the system or something. “I don’t think it’s legal.”

“You missed it.”

“Missed what?” Harry turns, away from the counter and his thoughts to see Zayn standing over Shelly, who’s back in the kitchen, sitting on the floor like she usually is. “Missed what?”

“She walked and you missed it,” Zayn says, smiling down at Shelly big and bright. And Harry, well, Harry loses it.

“She what?! She walked?” He rushes over to Shelly, goes to pick her up straight away. “And you didn’t tell me? Are you kidding me Zayn? How could you do that?”

“Harry –”

“Why would you take that away from me?” Harry interrupts, not done with yet another speech. “You know I wanted to see her take her first steps. I did Shelly, I really did want to see it. If _someone_ had half a mind to _tell me_ , then I’d see. I’m so sorry.” He bops her nose twice for good measure, holding her close to really make sure she knows he didn’t mean to miss such an important milestone.

Zayn sighs heavily next to him, looking like he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Good, Harry thinks, he should feel like shit. But he doesn’t expect it when Zayn lowers his head as well, mumbles a barely there, “Sorry,” that actually sounds sincere.

So Harry caves, faster than he thinks he ever has. “It’s okay. You’ll walk again, won’t you?”

Shelly giggles in response, happy and in a great mood, which is really all that matters to Harry.

“I’ll see it next time,” he says looking at Shelly, but he means it more for Zayn. Harry doesn’t know why he’s feeling bad about it now. He shouldn’t be the one feeling bad, but he still says, “It’s okay,” again, just for good measure.

—————

Shelly decides to skip on showing Harry what a great walker she is and rather demonstrates to both him and Zayn how she’s going to be a sprinter when she grows up, faster and more agile than either of them to follow her quickly enough.

They baby-proof more of the house, every possible hard surface Shelly could get her hands on now fluffy with foam or new, extra thick tablecloths just to be sure. But she is great; a walker, a runner, everything she does is great and manages to put a bright smile on Harry’s face. Zayn’s too, Harry’s noticing. It’s taken some time, but now even Zayn joins when Harry’s clapping as she runs especially fast or when she puts a puzzle with three pieces together all by herself. It takes half an hour and a lot of cheering, but when she does it, Zayn picks her up and twirls her around in circles, peppering her cheeks with loud kisses that make Harry giggle embarrassingly loud. They’re all great.

So with summer and unbearable heat, Harry begins to notice how less and less of Zayn’s ‘clients’ end up on his couch during the night. And even if they do and Harry has to sleep with a pillow over his head so as not to repeat The Accident – the last thing he needs to hear when he’s trying to read a book is Zayn’s name on repeat – they’re gone before he and Shelly make their way downstairs.

It’s still great, Harry’s still smiling and laughing more than he ever did before, which isn’t even a question when it comes to Zayn, but there is something that’s been – not exactly bothering Harry – just something he thinks should’ve stopped before it even started.

Harry’s been sitting on the kitchen floor with plans and contracts and layouts spread between his legs for hours now, sweating and huffing, pulling on his hair when he doesn’t know what the _frick_ something means. Or at least he’s been trying to, really trying with all his might to keep his head low and his eyes lower especially every time Shelly runs past the wide open kitchen doors with Zayn right behind her, tipping a cold beer to his lips every few steps.

It’s distracting is what it is, and not because even with his head down Harry can still see how the beer bottle is sweating in Zayn hand or how his lips pucker every time he leans it towards his mouth. It’s none of that, not at all, because what’s distracting is all of Zayn’s skin that’s just out there, free and somewhat sweaty, bare like it’s okay to walk around the house in nothing but his underwear.

It’s hot, Harry knows, that’s why he’s sitting on the cold tiles in the kitchen, because there’s a pleasant draft here, swooshing around his hair and right where Harry knows his shirt has risen on his back. But Harry’s still wearing his clothes, albeit a sheer shirt with cut off sleeves and a pair of shorts he remembered he had. His chest is covered, because Harry wants to be decent enough if for instance – because it’s not like it’s happened before – Niall, their social worker, made a surprise visit, he wouldn’t be throwing his nakedness all in his face. It’s just not polite, Harry’s decided. And if Harry’s holding himself back from tearing all of his clothes off his overheated body, then Zayn should suffer too. Instead, he’s making Harry lose focus every time he struts lazily behind Shelly. Ridiculous.

—————

“Do we need that many almonds?” Zayn asks, again, because apparently Harry saying yes four times already hasn’t been enough.

So, for the fifth time – and counting – Harry looks Zayn straight in the eye and as seriously as he possibly can, says, “Yes, we need that many almonds.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh my god, Zayn, I swear –”

“Chill,” Zayn laughs as he goes to pick Shelly’s hand up to high-five himself with it. “We’re just messing with you.”

Harry gasps, he has to. “I mean – I expected this from you,” he points at Zayn accusatorily before he aims his finger at Shelly. He feels bad because she’s been really good today, sitting in the cart without making a fuss. “But you, I thought you were on my side.”

“Shelly’s team Z all the way, aren’t ya?” Zayn ruffles her hair. Harry wonders if they could squeeze a quick hair cut in for her.

It’s kind of scary, how she’s been growing out of her clothes, even the dresses that Harry had bought her last month now a little less long, a little tighter. She hasn’t sat down since her first steps and now he can’t keep Zayn quiet about the fact she’s been squealing ‘Z’ all over the house. Like it even means what he thinks it means, because it doesn’t. It can’t possibly mean she’s favoring Zayn over Harry. He won’t allow it.

Before Shelly has the time to yell out another high pitched sound to make Zayn gloat for hours on end, Harry hears a faint call of his name from behind his back. He turns around – giving himself whiplash – and there’s a blonde, blue eyed man waving at him.

“Niall!” Harry doesn’t know where to look, turning around to check on Zayn and Shelly, who are standing right behind him. Okay. “It’s Niall. Hi Niall.”

“Someone sounds excited to see _Niall_.” Zayn clears his throat, but Harry ignores him because Niall’s smiling at him. Harry forgot what a nice smile Niall has and how it was the reason Niall always got an extra chocolate oatmeal cookie when he came by in the mornings for his coffee. Double shot of espresso with just a smidgen of milk, Harry remembers, because he knows all of his regular’s orders, but this one he might have remembered especially well. Maybe.

“Hey,” Niall waves a little. His eyes shine when he smiles at Shelly who’s happy to sit in the shopping cart. “Hi Zayn.” Niall extends his hand, shakes Zayn’s and is back to looking at Harry. Still smiling, Harry notes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Um… Shopping?” Niall’s smile twists into something awkward and Harry wants to slap himself.

“Of course, yeah. We too, um, are shopping. We’re shopping too.” Nice save, Harry thinks.

“How are you three?” Niall asks, thankfully pretending like Harry hasn’t embarrassed himself completely. Niall’s great like that. “Doing alright?”

“Oh yeah,” Zayn steps in this time. Not that he really had to. “We’re getting a hang of things. Settled and all that.”

“That’s great, really great. And how are you two?”

“Um…” Harry lost for words. He looks back at Zayn with a raised eyebrow to see if he wants to step in again, but he just shrugs, the bastard. “We’re good too?” It’s not exactly sounding all that great.

And then Zayn, like he has a personal vendetta against Harry or something, like he’s trying to make it even more awkward – Harry didn’t think it was possible – steps next to Harry and wraps his arms around his shoulders. “We’re getting along, you know. It hasn’t been easy, what with everything that’s happened, but like Harry said, we’re really great too.”

“I said _good_ ,” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Niall nods, but his smile fades in the next second. “ _Oh…_ Well, that’s, um, fantastic I guess. I’m really happy for you.”

“Oh my god.” This is so not what Zayn meant. “Zayn, can you just walk away please? Just go find more almonds or something.”

“I’m okay here,” Zayn says sweetly and his arm definitely tightens around Harry.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Harry hisses and it’s enough for Zayn to unwrap himself away from Harry, nodding at Niall and walking away. Not fast enough, Harry notes.

“God, I’m sorry, sometimes he gets into a mood…”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Niall waves him off and then he looks at Harry for a moment, like he’s expecting something else, but Harry’s is nothing if not patient. “So,” Niall finally says. “How are you two? Really?”

“Well, you know.” Harry can do this. He can talk about how living with Zayn is, how they’re raising Shelly and how everything seems to be working now, after the few adjustments around the house. So he does, Harry tells Niall about the photos they took down and the fact Shelly is walking all by herself. And Niall laughs at all of his jokes, hums in all the right places and even asks some follow up questions.

“What about the work? Do you split it between you?”

“Oh yeah, we’ve got a _big_ chart. It was actually my idea.” Bragging won’t take him far, but it might give him a step or two.

“A chart?” Niall laughs.

“Hey,” Harry drawls. “Don’t mock my chart. It’s a great chart.”

“Well, um.” Niall quiets down a bit, going back to scratching at the back of neck, but Harry doesn’t think he’s said anything to make it awkward again. He might be wrong though. But then Niall looks up at him and he’s, well, he’s blushing. “Does that chart give you any time off too?”

Harry feels like laughing. He composes himself though and puts his weight on one leg to stick his hip out. He knows what he looks like when he’s standing like this. “Oh yeah. Monday, Wednesday and every other Friday.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, told you it was a great chart.”

Laughing, Niall says, “Well, will you have Shelly this Friday?”

“Um,” Harry hums, taps his finger against his lips just for good measure. “No, actually. All free.”

“Pick you up at eight?” Niall asks directly, no pretense left or nervous laughter. Harry likes his assertiveness.

“That would be great, yeah.”

“Okay, well, I’ll call you then.”

“Okay,” Harry smiles and then waves at Niall again when he turns around and looks over his shoulder at Harry.

Harry’s stuck where he’s standing for a while after, just smiling at the now empty spot, thinking how his life really is changing, how it really is great. Things are working out for once.

But then he’s brought quickly out of his thoughts when he blinks and Zayn’s standing in front of him with Shelly still in the cart. “A bit inappropriate, isn’t it?”

Harry huffs. “Well, we can’t all sleep with our customers, now can we?”

Zayn shrugs and turns around and starts walking away, but Harry can still hear the faint, “Not that we do anymore.”

—————

“So when does your social worker get here?” Zayn asks from the couch. He’s spread over the entire length of it and Harry has been trying to bite his tongue about the fact he’s getting popcorn all over the cushions. He’s gonna stop trying if Zayn’s little childish comments keep coming though.

“Any minute and can you please stop calling him that?”

“What I am supposed to call him though? Is he not your social worker?”

“What about just Niall?”

Zayn nods. “Just Niall it is.”

Harry groans internally. “Why do you have to be so weird about this?”

“Oh, you mean about you dating our social worker, Just Niall?” Zayn laughs, but it sounds a bit dry to Harry’s ears. “I think it goes against some rules, doesn’t it? Like, official rules that prohibit social workers getting involved with their cases or something, I don’t know.”

“Zayn.” Harry stops pacing up and down the hallway. He can’t believe he’s about to ask this, but it might be necessary. “Do you have a problem with this?”

It seems like they just look at each other for a moment or five, Zayn staring right at Harry with a closed-off look that Harry thought was a thing of the past. Apparently it’s still here though, and it’s as strong as ever. It’s another moment of not flinching under Zayn’s death-glare before Zayn smiles all wide and seemingly happy.

“Of course not.”

And that’s it, Harry can sense it is. The subject is closed and Zayn’s back at shoving fistfuls of popcorn into his mouth while he enjoys another riveting episode of the _Wiggles_. But it’s fine with Harry if it’s fine with Zayn and apparently, well, it is fine. So great, Harry will go and enjoy himself a date with Just Niall. Niall, just Niall. _F-u-c-k._

It takes a couple more minutes of pacing the hallway for the doorbell to ring and Harry notes to himself that Niall’s three minutes early. He’s definitely getting a few points for that. It’s definitely better than an hour late, he thinks as he throws Zayn one last look before he goes to open the door.

“Hi!” Harry smiles as wide as he possibly can as Niall steps inside.

“You look…” Niall says, but doesn’t finish, blushing instead.

“Thanks, you too.” Harry can be smooth, he can be collected and not at awkward. If he tries. But his suave charm lasts all of a second, because he’s squawking in the next, when Zayn’s right behind him all of a sudden, stretching his arm out over Harry’s shoulder to shake Niall’s hand.

“What’s up man?” Zayn asks, a little too comfortably if you ask Harry.

“I’m good,” Niall nods, still completely collected. “I’m really good. Thanks for giving Harry a night off.”

“Oh, no biggie.” Zayn swats him away and Harry thinks he should definitely take a step back, because he’s slightly intruding into Harry’s personal space. Not that Harry minds, really, it’s just with Niall standing right _there_ it’s sending a mixed message. “You know, he actually tried on everything in his closet? Made a little fashion show for me even. Was nice.”

“Okay!” Harry claps his hands, startling everyone again. He really should stop doing that, he thinks, but then he looks at Niall, who’s expectantly turned towards the driveway. “Shall we?”

“Let’s go.”

“Have fun you two.” Zayn’s standing at the doorway now, waving them off like a complete weirdo. “Call me if you need me!”

—————

“Can I tell you the truth?”

Niall sighs a breath and shakes his head as they walk further towards the end of a dark, shady alley. It smells and the pavement is stained with Harry probably doesn’t want to know what, and with each step they take, the shadows get thicker and darker.

“Lay it on me.”

“I’m kinda scared you’re a social worker during the day and a serial killer during the night.”

“What?” Niall guffaws.

It’s not a sound Harry’s heard before and it sounds kind of cute and kind of funny enough to make him laugh too. “Well, a dark alley? A dark weird smelling alley? Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“I do.” Niall gives him this side glance, this evaluative thing that makes Harry blush a little. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I do. I’d just like to know whether I’m putting my trust into a serial killer or not.”

“It’s a surprise,” Niall says, but he’s still laughing, so Harry chalks it up at a few gained points. “Do you not like surprises?”

“I mean…” Harry blushes again, because he knows what he is. He’s been told plenty of times before and it wasn’t news then, it’s just a truth that’s a bit hard to swallow sometimes. Especially when he’s trying to impress someone, not make them run away. “I can be a control freak at times, but you know what? I do, I trust that you’re not about to murder me.”

“Oh wow,” Niall’s eyes glow and he puts a hand on his chest as he says, “That means so much.”

Harry slaps his arm. “It’s not nice to make fun of people, you know.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop. We’re here actually.”

“This?” Harry points to a metal door. “Are you taking me backstage to a concert?”

“Harry, I’m a social worker.”

“Well, you could’ve handled some celebrity’s adoption, what do I know?” It’s hard to keep talking and walking when he can’t really see where he’s going, but as soon as they get close enough to the back entrance, it’s bright enough for Harry to concentrate. And give himself ideas. “Oh my god, is it an Elton John concert?”

“You a fan?” Niall chuckles and Harry doesn’t know when it happened, but there’s a steady hand on the small of his back, leading him along the twisty hallways. It’s… nice.

“I mean, I could be. If it is Elton.”

“It’s not Elton.”

“Madonna?” Harry asks, wonders if his eyes shine as badly as he thinks they do. Harry could live with not going to an Elton John’s concert, but Madonna got him through some tough times in high school, when Pink Floyd just couldn’t cut it with his teenage angst.

“She adopted?” Niall’s brows pull together when Harry looks over at him and the confusion on his face is actually adorable. Niall is adorable, really. He’s not quite as tall as Harry is and his built is more lean, but Harry thinks his blue eyes could be seen from space. Harry’s always preferred brown, that honey color that makes him feel like he’s looking into someone soul, but he could start liking blue too. Blue isn’t that bad.

“Um, I don’t know actually,” Harry shakes his head. How could he not know this? “Maybe?”

“Well it’s not that.”

“Then what is it? I mean, I don’t…” Harry starts to say, but then they turn on another corner and they’re walking into a kitchen and Harry’s thoughts drift away from him, because Niall, he just – “This is…”

“Le Mare.”

And it is, Harry thinks. It really is Le Mare. It’s Harry favorite restaurant, the one he’s only been to twice before, because getting a table here takes months. They make this salmon dish that Harry’s tried to recreate in his own kitchen countless times, but it never comes out like it should, like it does here, like it might tonight.

“The owner has a two year old daughter and I might’ve been on _his_ case.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. “You’re Phillipe Le Mare’s social worker?”

Niall beams. “I am.”

“Oh my –” Harry’s sure his face looks as awkward as it ever has, but he doesn’t care, because he might’ve just met his soulmate.

“Horan!”

They both turn around when someone calls for Niall and when Harry sees who it is, his jaw basically breaks off and lands on the floor.

“Phillipe,” Niall says and goes straight to shake Le Mare’s hand, like they’re old friends, buddies, like if this night works out, Harry might be able to call Le Mare Phillipe one day as well.

“And you must be Harry.” Le Mare smiles at him politely, offering his hand to him.

“Wow, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” Harry realizes what he sounds like, he does, he just doesn’t care, because he’s currently touching Le Mare. This night can’t get better – not that he’ll say that to Niall.

“Pleasure’s mine. Your table’s all set up there, come on.”

And then Le Mare, Phillipe, leads them to a special table at the back of the kitchen, where Harry can watch as masters work on his salmon. He doesn’t really hear what Niall and Phillipe are saying, too busy keeping his focused eyes on a line chef chopping away at a beautiful piece of lamb with the kind of expertise Harry dreamt about having one day, before he switched to pastries and baked goods.

Niall pulls out Harry’s chair for him and slides a hand over his shoulder before he goes to sit down as well, but Harry’s still paying attention to the lamb, what spices the line chef is using, because a pinch of basil never crossed his mind. He needs to try that immediately when he gets home. Maybe Zayn could be his taste tester.

Slinging his eyes over every piece of steel counter Harry can find, he thinks how he had hoped that day all those years ago, that _someone_ would take him to La Mare. Harry wore his best shirt for that date, just because he knew Louis had to have mentioned it to _someone_ that all Harry wants for a date is La Mare.

But Harry’s in his best shirt now too, the one he forgot he had, lost in the still unorganized closed. It’s sheer so it compliments his chest, but it has flowers reaching from his back and over his sides, red beautiful flowers that were the reason he bought in the first place. Harry thinks it tells an accurate story about who he is as a person, not considering the fact anyone can see his nipples though it. That’s just an added bonus.

By the time Harry’s able to focus more on Niall than on the food that’s being prepared right in front of his eyes and all around their table, he’s already finished half of his appetizer – cheesy pesto with garlic bread that’s melting on his taste buds deliciously. He’s been humming and nodding, raising his eyebrow at all the appropriate moments when Niall said this or that, but it’s hard to focus with all the mouthwatering food in front of him. And maybe Harry’s also wondering if he should save some of the pesto to take back to Zayn. But that’s at the far back of his mind, Harry’s not really focused on that.

“Where did you go to school?” Niall asks and Harry hums again, nods once before he realizes he’s going to have to answer this one with words. He shakes his head and swallows another bite of the garlic bread.

“The Art Institute,” Harry says, smiling. “And then I started my business when I graduated.”

“That was fast.”

“Yeah.” It was, Harry remembers how frantic he was for those three months before he was finally able to turn the ‘open’ sign for the first time. He can’t help but feel proud of himself for that. “I mean, it was what I always wanted, so I worked my ass off, had some money saved,” he shrugs, “and I didn’t feel like wasting any more time.”

“It’s really great, that you always knew.”

Harry smiles, but it feels too polite for it to feel completely genuine. It still works though, puts a slight blush on Niall’s cheeks. “What about you? Always knew you’d be a social worker?”

“God no.” Niall laughs. It’s a good laugh, Harry notes, heartfelt and not too loud. And even if his nose does scrunch up in the right way, it’s not something Harry couldn’t live without. “I started a band in high school and we weren’t even considering college when he finished. Went on this small tour, I guess. It was really– it was fun for a while.”

“Why? What happened?” Harry’s not exactly sitting at the edge of his seat, but he’s interested, wants to know if something really good or really bad happened that made them drift apart or breakup. Harry’s wishing for something really good. He thinks he’s reached his limit of awful things happening to good people.

Niall shrugs. “We – I liked music because I thought we were changing people’s lives with it. And I know how that sounds,” Niall raises his hand to silence any possible comments Harry might have. “But we were young, eighteen, nineteen, so you can’t blame us. And one day we just figured we could change people’s lives more directly, more hands on, I guess.” Niall leans back in his chair and puts his fork down, seemingly done with his pesto. Harry likes the look in his eyes, the way they shine with memories and nostalgia. “I’m a social worker, Josh’s a teacher and Craig’s a firefighter, so it worked out in the end.”

“Those are really great jobs to have, you’re like the three good Samaritans,” Harry jokes and it does make Niall smile a little. Harry chalks it up as a win though, because not many people react that way to his jokes. Some do, some people even throw their heads back and snort embarrassingly, but not all.

“They are,” Niall nods. “But we miss it sometimes, still get together for some serious jam sessions.”

“Oh, well, I’d like to come to one of those if you don’t mind.” Harry feels a little forward, like he might be intruding with the self-invite, but he’s never been shy about the things he wants. Well, not since very recently.

“Yeah?”

Harry nods, smiling at Niall as genuinely as he can. “Yeah.”

“Okay, well.” Niall’s trying to stay collected, Harry can tell. It’s cute. “It’s a date then.”

Harry nods again and then he’s thanking the waiter that brings over their main course, the salmon calling his name right from the plate. It looks amazing. Even better than.

“I can’t wait to try this,” Niall says and he sounds like a five year old in a toy store. Again, it’s fairly cute.

“You don’t eat out much, do you?”

“Um, I guess I don’t, no. Is it that obvious?”

Harry shakes his head and grabs his fork again, more than ready for the upcoming mouthgasm. “Not obvious, I could just tell.”

“I guess,” Niall starts, but then he’s taking a bite of his salmon and moaning like Harry can’t wait to, moving his hand to cover his mouth. “I guess my husband used to cook a lot, so we never did go out much to eat.”

Harry freezes right as he’s about to tip his fork closer to his lips. It’s a short pause, but he sees how Niall notices, so he takes the bite and completely forgets to chew slowly and savor the taste. “Used to?” he asks. It was too obvious, the way Niall said it, to just ignore and move past the subject. Plus, Harry’s curious, more than he was about the band.

“Yeah, he, uh, he passed away a few years ago,” Niall’s nodding. It’s clearly an awkward subject, Harry can only imagine, so he just nods too, because it feels like the only safe thing to do. But then when he clearly isn’t going to say anything, Niall chuckles this tight laugh, taking a sip of his water. “That was really smooth of me, right?”

Harry wants to snort, but it doesn’t feel appropriate at the time, so he just smiles brightly down at his salmon and says a, “The smoothest,” before he’s really tasting the salmon, moaning as soon as his tongue moves. “This is really incredible.”

“It really is,” Niall agrees. “I’m glad you recommended it.”

“Anytime,” Harry smiles. The date isn’t that bad. It’s a bit awkward and Harry doesn’t know what to do with that little bit about a dead husband Niall so freely gave him, but it’s not bad. It’s Harry’s favorite restaurant with a guy he genuinely likes, who’s polite and well mannered, who doesn’t drink beer after beer without acknowledging that he’s doing it do numb something he desperately doesn’t want to feel. Niall doesn’t make snarky comments that made Harry’s life that much harder, so the date isn’t bad. But Harry thinks it’s not something to write home about either.

It’s with that thought that his pocket starts buzzing and the _Wiggles_ theme song starts to play.

“Oh my – I’m so sorry. I thought I turned it off.”

“Nah,” Niall waves him off. “It’s fine.”

“Can you stop changing my ringtone, please?” is what Harry answers with. He doesn’t know why Zayn finds it so amusing.

_“Harry.”_

“Look, it’s my night off, Zayn, so if this is something –”

_“I’m in the hospital.”_

“What?” Before Harry knows what he’s doing, he’s pushing away from the table and standing up, patting at his pockets to check if he’s got everything, he’s not even sure what. “Are you hurt? What happened? Are you okay?”

_“Harry, I’m fine. It’s Shelly, she has a fever and I didn’t know what to do, so I just came here, I didn’t know what else to do.”_

Harry can’t help but pick up on Zayn’s tone, how he sounds like the words are spilling out of him in a rush. He sounds like Harry feels. He doesn’t know what’s happening or what he’s doing, but Niall is standing next to him now, pulling on his elbow to make him turn. Harry goes without a fight, asking Zayn if Shelly is fine and listening to how he says, “I don’t know, Harry, please just get here,” in a way that makes Harry’s stomach twist into something painful. Harry thinks he can hear his heart in his ears, over the sound of Zayn’s voice, over the sound of Niall starting his car and asking Harry what’s happening.

Harry doesn’t really remember the ride to the hospital.

—————

The last time Harry was in a hospital, he was the one calling Zayn, hoping that he’d pick up his phone, praying that Zayn will hear it on a late Saturday night. Harry couldn’t even hear the connecting ring. All he was focusing on was the click of Zayn picking up, the simple sign that told Harry he wasn’t alone. When the line did go through and Harry heard that _click_ which meant Zayn picked up, Harry told him what happened or he thought he did.

It all happened so fast. Harry was hoping Zayn could understand him through his sobbing as he ranted off foreign words that didn’t sound right, too raw, too broken, too jumbled together. But he did, because it took Zayn exactly four minutes to get to the hospital, running down the hallway to where Harry was crumpled on the floor, hugging his knees and trying his best to pull himself together.

It was Zayn who did it though, the one who pressed himself close to Harry, who made Harry let go of his legs and grab hold of Zayn instead. He was the one who pulled Harry together, each limb at a time until he was standing and ready to face officer Young again. It all happened so fast, like Harry thinks it always does in hospitals – either quick as lightning or slow as molasses.

But it’s different this time, because Harry’s the one running down the busy hallways to get to the pediatric wing, where Zayn’s slouched into a plastic chair with his head in his hands, hair frazzled and even though Harry can’t see, he knows his eyes are bloodshot.

He’s right. As soon as Zayn hears his name, he’s on his feet and rushing towards Harry with open arms and what looks like watery eyes. Harry can’t blame him though, he could never hold crying in a hospital against Zayn. Harry wouldn’t hold anything against Zayn.

“Where is she?” Harry winces at the sound of his own voice, the hoarseness that’s sneaked its way to his throat.

Zayn takes a deep breath and straightens his back, giving himself another second before he’s stepping away from Harry with a more composed if still wide eyed expression. “In there,” he points to a room, but he’s quick to stop Harry with his other hand. “They’re checking her out, to see what’s happening.”

“And we can’t–?”

“No, we can,” Zayn shakes his head, shrugs. “I just thought it’d be better to give the doctors some space.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Harry knows that a good idea, that they’d only get in the way, but as much as he’s agreeing, he still wants to see her. He needs to see Shelly for just a second and then we’ll relax a little. Just a quick look.

“Do you–?”

Harry doesn’t let Zayn finish, he just nods and starts making his way to the room Zayn pointed at. Just a glance, just to see that she’s alright. He needs to know Shelly’s okay, that’s all.

“I’ll try to find out more,” Niall yells from behind them, but Harry only raises his hand in acknowledgement. That’s great of Niall, but he’s not Harry’s priority right now. It’s the slightly ajar door that Harry wants to throw himself at, but manages to gently push, so that only his head can pop through.

There’s a hand at the small of his back, warm and grounding, tethering Harry so he doesn’t crumble completely, as he takes a step inside the room, his eyes intently on the doctor and nurse leaning over Shelly. She’s crying, wailing this ugly sound up at them, but they don’t seem to be fazed, don’t even notice how red her face has gotten and it’s not something Harry can just stand there and look at. He doesn’t understand how someone can listen to that kind of noise and not even twitch in the face of it. And apparently, neither can Zayn.

“Hey, little lady,” Zayn cooing before he’s even at her cold metal crib, and Harry can hear the strained smile in his voice, how clearly fake it is, but Shelly doesn’t, she doesn’t do much more than stand up and raise her hands up high, showing she wants to be picked up, that she _needs_ to be held right now.

“One more minute, Shelly.” It’s the nurse that stops Zayn as she brushes Shelly’s hair back. That’s Harry’s job. Zayn’s the one that picks her up and Harry bops her nose and ruffles her hair until she giggles into Zayn’s neck. Harry has to hold his groan in. “We’re just checking her temperature again.”

Harry nods and stays where he is, two steps away from Shelly’s crib, two steps too far away to be of any use to her. Two steps away from where Zayn’s leaning over her as well and holding her little hands as the doctor runs the thermometer over her head.

“What’s wrong with her?” Harry asks. He thinks he can handle another minute of coherence before he’s pushing everyone aside to get his hands in Shelly’s hair. Just one minute more. Less if the doctor doesn’t stop writing in Shelly’s chart to pay attention to Harry.

“Well,” he finally clicks his pen close, in what Harry deems a very medical way. “It seems our Shelly here has a urinary-tract infection. It’s just one of those things that happens with kids, so you don’t have to blame yourself, you did nothing wrong.”

Harry’s cringing before the doc even stops talking. _Our_ Shelly? Harry glances over at Zayn, who’s giving the nurse the kind of death glare not even Harry’s seen before. It’s comforting to know they’re on the same side here.

“We’re not– we’re not blaming ourselves.” It’s not something they should even have to say, but Harry still does, just to make it transparently clear.

“Good,” the doctor visibly swallows. “That’s good. She’s on an antibiotic drip right now, just to get the meds into her a bit faster, so don’t worry about that either,” he glances over at the nurse. “We’ll give you a few minutes before we check up on her again.”

Zayn grumbles something under his breath as they close the door behind themselves and without clearly hearing what he says, Harry still finds himself agreeing wholeheartedly. He can imagine what it meant.

“Do you think we can pick her up?” Harry’s asks as he comes to stand next to Zayn, who’s still holding Shelly’s small hands, brushing his thumbs over the backs of her palms so gently, it’s calmed her down some. Enough that she’s not sobbing so much as just crying like she usually does when in a mood. “Zayn?”

Zayn isn’t listening though. He isn’t hearing Harry as he calls his name a couple more times. And Harry knows Shelly is the priority, that he chose her, decided to care for her, to love her with everything he has, but she’s okay now, she’s going to be fine, she’s getting better, whereas Zayn’s just standing there, looking down at her with his mind not entirely there.

So it’s Harry job to bring him back, to take care of Zayn too, to make sure he’s going to be fine for Shelly, because they’re a team and they need to do this together. They decided to do this together, so now it’s on Harry to make sure Zayn’s okay too.

Harry lightly wraps his fingers around Zayn’s wrists and tugs just enough that he lets go of Shelly’s palms. She stands there at the end of her crib and watches as Harry turns Zayn so that he’s looking at Harry, but he’s not really, making empty eye contact like he’s looking through Harry, like his eyes are on the wall behind Harry’s back. It ignites something in Harry, this foreign burst of wind filling up his lungs that propels him forwards until he has his arms wrapped tightly around Zayn’s middle. Tight enough to hurt.

“It’s okay.” Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps repeating, “Okay, it’s okay,” into Zayn’s shoulder, into the air between them until Harry believes it too. That it’s going to be okay, that it’s not the end of the world, that Shelly is going to be fine. “It’s going to be okay,” Harry whispers it now, softer, so that he’s breathing the words into Zayn’s neck, right along his heartbeat.

Harry feels how Zayn’s chest expands with a deep breath, hollowing out as he says, “Okay,” on the exhale.

Acknowledgement makes Harry hum happily as he kisses Zayn’s neck, because it’s right there and the slope is too inviting to ignore. He says, “Okay,” one more time, before he gives another kiss, lingers with his lips against Zayn’s warm skin, but then Zayn leans his head to the side by that much, like he doesn’t mind it, like Harry isn’t stepping right onto the invisible line they drew years ago. Harry presses his lips higher on Zayn’s neck, below his ear this time and Zayn still doesn’t move. Zayn doesn’t flinch away and Harry thinks it’s his way of taking the line away, of moving it a couple of steps backwards – just far enough that Harry can graze the hinge of his jaw before Zayn’s moving and catching their lips together.

Harry could think about how he always imagined what kissing Zayn would be like, because it’s not like he didn’t for at least a couple of days after their horrible date. He could compare what he thought with the real thing right now, as Zayn holds onto him tighter and sucks on his bottom lip like he knows it makes Harry’s skin crawl, but he doesn’t. Harry stays there, in Zayn’s arms, humming when he licks over the seam of Zayn’s lips. His mind doesn’t drift away from the moment, is resolutely planted where they stand together, where Zayn’s fingers dig into his hips a little.

Harry manages to stay focused even when they separate and he sees how a smile is tugging at the corners of Zayn’s mouth as they still stand there, holding onto each other. After a couple of seconds it takes for Zayn to open his eyes and look at Harry, still trying to fight his smile, Harry’s thoughts stay present too. But when they move to the side of Shelly’s crib where she’s already lying down and on the brink of sleep, when Zayn still hasn’t moved his arm away from Harry’s waist, Harry closes his eyes and lets himself drift away.

—————

They haven’t talked about it.

Shelly got to go home after a night at the hospital, a night Harry and Zayn spent in two uncomfortable armchairs with their fingers twined together, like they were afraid to let go. And maybe they were. But it’s been a week and Harry hasn’t managed to get so much as within two feet of Zayn. And Harry doesn’t mind, not really, he can live without holding Zayn’s hand or kissing him like their lives depended on it again. He can, but he doesn’t know if he can go without talking about it. Just to clear the air, at least. They don’t have to have a heart to heart, Harry knows Zayn well enough to expect anything but that.

Maybe it’s the fact they’re around each other all day every day because they both took the rest of the week off, or maybe it’s because Niall hasn’t answered any of his texts after their date, but as much as Harry doesn’t expect to have a grownup conversation about what happened anytime soon, he’s found himself looking at Zayn more often than not. And Harry’s worried that Zayn’s noticed too, so instead of just clearly saying that nothing’s ever going to happen again, he’s giving him the cold shoulder. That’s just Harry’s speculating though. It’s just one of the possible reasons why Zayn hasn’t looked back at him yet.

“Her temperature is normal,” Zayn announces from all the way over at the other side of the living room. It’s getting more ridiculous with every day that he keeps avoiding Harry.

Harry only nods in acknowledgement, pretending like he’s avoiding Zayn too, when he’s really just too busy looking at the pile of ever-growing bills cluttering their kitchen table. It’s like nothing’s getting paid while Harry’s bank account keeps plummeting to new lows every day. He doesn’t think he’s been this broke since he got his first job at fifteen.

“How can they charge us a thousand dollars for a night in the hospital? Did we have caviar for dinner or something?” Harry would read what exactly the hospital did to warrant a thousand dollars, but he doesn’t understand a single word in front of him except to large number. It’s disconcerting for more reasons than Harry can count.

“Hospitals are expensive,” Zayn says completely unhelpfully and conveniently enough, right as Harry stands up to find a bottle of wine with his name on it.

“I know, but then with the clothes and the food and the utilities…”

“Kids are expensive, we talked about it. And we’re just settling in, it’ll just take some time to get a hang of things.”

“I can’t exactly get a hang of things here when I’m expanding my shop, can I? Everything’s adding up.”

“It’s not _that_ bad, right? I mean, it can’t be that bad.”

Harry turns around with a glass of wine in his hand and Zayn’s standing on the other side of the island, looking exactly like what Harry can’t think about right now. There’s an awkward moment of Harry not knowing where to look before Zayn shrugs. Harry smiles though, because he would’ve bet Zayn was going to do that.

“It kind of is, yeah.” It’s disappointing, but it’s the truth. Harry can’t handle it all at once and for the hours he’s just spend staring at bills and receipts and his bank statement, he’s only come up with one solution. “I’ll just call Lily and tell her the expansion’s postponed for a few more months. Maybe a few years.”

It’s like all the air whooshes out of Harry as he finally words what he’s known was coming sooner or later. He deflates a little, but he also knows it’s nothing he can’t handle, so with a ginger sip of wine, he walks back to the living room and falls back on the couch – mindful of his glass.

“So what?” Zayn’s right behind him, but he doesn’t take a seat. “You’re just gonna throw away your dream? The whole restaurant idea?”

Harry sighs. “I can’t increase my loan and I don’t have any other way to get the money I need. It’s fine. I’m gonna be okay.” There’s a silent _just not right at this moment_ that Harry doesn’t say, but he doesn’t think he has to. Zayn can probably see it written all over his face. But it’s not the worst thing that’s happened, not by a long shot, not even this week, so Harry knows it’s true when he says he’s going to be okay.

It’s like he said the magic words though, a simple _abracadabra_ that must untangle something in Zayn and make him walk over to the coffee table, where he sits down opposite Harry, so that their legs are almost slotted together. Harry is acutely aware of their closeness.

“You know, I could give you the money.”

Harry frowns.

“I, um, I have something saved up.”

“No.” There’s no way he’d let Zayn do that. “No, I can’t let you spend your saving like that.”

“I want to though,” Zayn smiles. It’s small, nothing compared to his wholehearted smile when his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches up and his whole face shines with happiness and glee, but it’s something. “Look at it this way: we’re raising a kid together and we have this house together. This’ll be just another thing to add to that list, right?”

“I mean… I guess?” It sounds reasonable when Zayn puts it like that, when it’s really just another thing they’ll have together. Not even the most important thing.

“Just…” Zayn doesn’t look that happy anymore. It’s still lacing his expression, but he’s more determined, more set with his eyebrows straight and a glint in his eyes Harry’s not sure he’s ever seen. “Let me help you.”

Help – it’s not something Harry’s particularly used to receiving. He learned to tie his shoelaces all by himself, learned how to dive into the pool headfirst without landing on his stomach with a splashing burn. He’s learned how to not rehash the past, how to move on, how to live with everything life’s thrown his way. And he thinks he could learn to accept help as well. Under strict conditions.

He lets Zayn look at him hopefully for another minute, just because he hasn’t felt Zayn’s eyes on him for what feels like a long, before he’s nodding. “Okay, but it has to be an investment.”

“Okay,” Zayn smiles more openly now. “I’ll be like a silent partner or something.”

And Harry smiles too, almost like it’s natural to mirror Zayn’s expression. “You’ll be a silent partner,” Harry agrees, leaning forward, because he’s going to have it. His dreams are going to come true, and he’s going to have his restaurant. “That actually entitles you to two percent of the profits.”

“Three percent.”

“Two. And a discount on food and wine.”

“Discount?”

“Ten percent,” Harry nods.

“Fifteen percent.”

“Ten perfect. It’s better than five,” Harry gives Zayn a look that Zayn understands easily.

“Fine, ten percent,” Zayn agrees. “But you throw in a dinner.”

“Yes.” Harry probably says that too loudly, but he doesn’t care. He’ll cook for Zayn, make him dinner every single night from now on if that’s what Zayn wants. “Definitely.”

“Well, alright then,” Zayn’s saying and standing up, and then Harry’s standing up to and the next thing he knows, they’re hugging and he’s too close to Zayn’s neck again. So Harry squeezed Zayn’s middle once, twice because his hands are already there before he’s stepping away to not make one of his happiest moments unnecessarily awkward.

“Okay, so dinner’s on me tonight.”

—————

“You two are all dressed up, huh? Going somewhere fancy tonight?” Nick smirks at them. It’s a bit of a dirty look, Harry thinks, but he can relate. Zayn’s in what Harry imagines are his nicer jeans, even if they have rips all along his thighs, and a black shirt that does nothing to hide his narrow frame and wide shoulders. Harry can definitely relate to Nick’s smirk.

“Give them a break,” Peter pipes up from behind Nick, where he’s rocking Shelly left and right.

“Yeah man,” Zayn says, brushing his hair back even if it wasn’t in his face. “Give us a break.”

“Whatever. Just don’t forget to pick up your kid when you finish your date.”

“Um, it’s not a date,” Harry’s quick to say, but he gets cut off by Zayn’s, “Of course. Thank you, really.”

So Harry repeats his and Zayn’s number instead, the restaurant’s and the hospital’s numbers just in case.

“Can you just leave already?” It’s Nick again and Harry really doesn’t appreciate his tone anymore, because this is a big thing, leaving Shelly with their neighbors, even if it’s just for a couple of hours. It’s huge, really.

But before he can give a lesson on how to be nice to Nick, Harry’s being pulled away from the doorstep by a hand in his own and Zayn’s giddy, “Going, going,” as he walks them to their car. Harry wants to complain, but then maybe Zayn would let go of his hand, so he stays nice and quiet until they’re pulling in front of his café

—————

“So…” Harry’s peeling the tomatoes with practiced fingers. It’s settling, grounding even, the practiced way with which he prepares the vegetables, the diced onions waiting on the pan to be fried so that he can cook the lamb stakes and boil the rice later. It’s what Harry knows how to do without a doubt, even if you wake him up in the middle of night. It’s what he’s good at, what he sees himself doing for years and years in the future. And he doesn’t exactly mind that Zayn’s sitting on the counter opposite him and looking at everything Harry does, how his hands wrap around a juicy tomato as he peels it. “How come a guy like you has savings?”

“A guy like me?

“You know,” Harry waves around the knife in his hands. “The lady’s man, the man’s man such as yourself… I didn’t expect you to have money on the side.”

Zayn snorts. “I’m full of surprises like that.”

 _You are_ , Harry wants to agree, _you’re just one big surprise after another with a bow on top_. But he doesn’t, because Harry can control himself, no matter how certain individuals used to mock him for having no filter. Harry has a filter; he just chooses not to use it most times. Except now, because he doesn’t want to give too much away, doesn’t want to scare Zayn away with one of those flimsy little comments he usually makes. Now he’d rather focus on slicing up the tomatoes into perfect cubes anyway.

So Harry simply says, “Yeah,” and leaves it at that, biting his lip to make sure nothing slips out. “Thank you though, it means a lot. I think Lily might just love you now.”

“It’s why I did it. For the ladies,” Zayn wiggles his eyebrows, grinning.

“Oh really?”

Harry’s turned away from him, so he can’t see when Zayn’s face closes up, but he can sure hear it in his next words, when he says, “No actually, I didn’t.”

“Why then?” Harry asks, because he can’t not. It’s one thing to contribute to their bills, to taking care of Shelly, since he’s her guardian just as much as Harry is. But it’s not the same, not at all, that he’s helping Harry like this. It’s not the same. Harry tried to rationalize it, that helping him with his business would make Harry happy which will make Shelly happy just by the relation of it all, but it sounds too much like a stretch to be true. Harry doesn’t know how Zayn thinks though, not yet, so he can’t be sure. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

When Zayn doesn’t answer right away, Harry wills himself not to turn to give him some space. And not because he’s doing himself a favor. But then he hears how Zayn clears his throat, swinging his feet and bumping them against the cupboards bellow the counter.

“It’s um– more for _whom_ then _why_ ,” Zayn says quietly, his voice contained in the space between him and Harry, like he’s afraid anyone else will hear.

Harry hears him just fine though, but because he’s him and he doesn’t know what the appropriate response is, he turns and throws him one of his best smiles, with a little less upbeat, “I was kidding about Lily loving you, you know that, right?”

Zayn’s face twists until he’s grinning right back at Harry, saying, “Good thing I didn’t do it for Lily then.”

“No?” Harry sounds so coy to his own ears he wants to cringe and take it back, go a different route, but then Zayn’s jumping off the counter and walking towards him with the dirtiest smirk he’s ever seen, so he thinks it might not have been too bad.

Zayn shakes his head as he comes to stand in front of Harry, reaching out his hands so that they settle on Harry’s waist, tight and firm. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and then before Harry can appreciate Zayn’s perfect mouth and how he wants to taste him again, Zayn’s leaning in like he’s reading Harry mind.

It’s less settled, less subdued as it was last time. Harry can’t quite catch his breath, can’t wrap his head around the way Zayn licks at the seam of his lips until Harry’s gasping and melting closer to Zayn. It’s all teeth and tongue, Harry’s hands gripping at Zayn’s neck and jaw, his thumb running over his cheek while Zayn holds on to Harry’s side, his fingers sinking into Harry’s skin and making him gasp again.

Harry didn’t think this dinner was going to take them here, that he’s going to be biting at Zayn’s bottom lips and sucking it into his mouth until Zayn moaned. Harry had no idea that he was going to nearly fall to his knees and start something else completely. But now that it’s happening, Harry’s not sure he ever wants to stop.

Zayn does though, because with what feels like a final flick of his tongue, he takes a step away from Harry. His head’s down, like he’s looking at how his hands still haven’t left Harry’s hips, but he’s smiling, just like Harry is, mirroring what Harry feels is bubbling in his chest. When Harry decides that he likes this look more – because Zayn seems softer, open, like he’s happy – compared to the deadly scowl, Zayn laughs a little and says, “Your union’s burning.”

“Shit.” Harry turns and picks up the pan, twisting his wrist, so that it unsticks and spreads around a little. It’s salvaged in a matter of seconds, but Harry can’t quite focus on the golden union sizzling in the pan, because Zayn’s still hasn’t moved his hands.

—————

“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before,” Harry hums around a forkful, covering his mouth as he speaks. The food he made isn’t anything fancy, nothing that would knock Zayn’s socks off, but it’s still delicious, still Harry’s favorite thing to make just because it’s so easy and simple. And judging by Zayn’s muffled moans when he tasted the first bite of Harry’s lamb steak, it’s at least moving his socks if not knocking them down completely.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“What?”

“Well,” Zayn starts. He’s smiling, which is good, it’s great, but his eyes are doing that thing, that Louis Thing that Harry’s never been a fan of. “I may have been ordered to never show my face here. And by ordered I mean I was totally threatened.”

“Louis?” Harry says, because really, that was completely unnecessary.

Zayn snorts. “Liam.”

“What?” Harry thinks his eyes have never been as wide as they are right now, because Liam would never, he was a model grown up that took everything a little too seriously. He wouldn’t have _threatened_ Zayn like that. Maybe Louis, sure, or Harry if Liam was in a particularly bad mood, but never Zayn. Harry shakes his head to get his thoughts in order, but no, it doesn’t add up. “What?”

“ _I know_ ,” Zayn nods. “That’s why I took it so seriously. If it was Louis…”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, because he knows that if Louis had been the one forbidding Zayn, he would’ve done it just to spite him. Zayn would’ve done it just because Louis told him not to. But Liam… that’s serious. He was the only one out of the four of them that they all listened to.

“Liam had this look in his eyes,” Zayn says, pointing at his own eyes, but Harry knows exactly what look he’s talking about. He also relates to Zayn’s shiver. They’ve all been subject to Liam’s Speeches. “I was so fu– _freak_ ing scared.”

“What did he say?” Harry excited about this part, because Liam always got really creative with his threats. So he grips his fork in his hand and looks expectantly at Zayn, hoping Liam made it really good. “Did he threaten your firstborn?”

Zayn chuckles and shakes his head. “Sadly, no. He, um, well… He may have promised to chop off something very important to me?”

There’s a second of silence, of stillness, where Harry looks at Zayn with excited wide eyes and Zayn’s face contorts in displeasure, where they just look at each other. For a second, the world stays still until they both burst out laughing. Harry covers his mouth so that he doesn’t produce any of his usually worrying noises and Zayn throws his head back, unable to stop a quick snort.

“You’re making it up,” Harry can barely get enough air to say. “Please tell me you’re making it up.”

“I wish. You know how much it freaked me out? He literally traumatized me. I’ve always tried to avoid this whole neighborhood.”

“You didn’t.”

“You bet your ass I did. When someone threatens to cut off your balls, you listen, Harry. You don’t take it as a joke and laugh it off.”

“No, no, I know. It’s just, I can’t believe Liam said that.”

“Yeah well, I guess I’m safe now, huh?”

Harry hums, nods his head. “I guess you are.”

There’s another second of stillness but this one isn’t expectant and Harry knows it won’t be broken with laughter. There aren’t many of those kind of pauses right before you start laughing, there are more of the ones before you storm off, slam the door, a second right before your eyes tear up and you take a shuttering breath. No matter what anyone thinks, the bad usually outweighs the good.

And this time isn’t any different when Zayn clears his throat and says a quiet, “This is delicious.”

“Thanks.”

“I should make you something next time.”

“You can cook?” It probably sounds a little too surprised, but the only time Zayn ventures into the kitchen is to get a beer. Or a glass of water. Or even more cookies to bribe Shelly with.

Zayn raises a perfectly poised eyebrow. “Yes? I’m actually pretty good at. I mean, I make a mess, like any good cook, but yeah, my mom was big on teaching me everything she knew.”

“Oh, well then yeah, please,” Harry agrees, and then because he needs to see what Zayn does, he adds a cautious, “It’s a date.” Harry knows this isn’t a date, that it’s just a thank you dinner Zayn deserves. He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up – not again – because they both know how horribly last time went, but he thinks he can hope a little. They’ve been getting along well enough and if it came down to where Harry would have to choose between Niall and Zayn, well, Harry doesn’t think he’d have to think too hard about it.

When Zayn stays quiet for too long though, Harry wants to apologize and dig himself a nice hole in the ground. Instead, he stuffs another forkful into his mouth and hopes Zayn doesn’t respond in anyway.

Harry should know, though, that his life never works like that, but what he expects when Zayn leans back and clears his throat isn’t a calm and collected, “Definitely,” that makes him and then Zayn grin stupidly at each other.

—————

Dinner goes over well. They eat until Harry says he’s going to unbutton his jeans if he takes another bite and Zayn doesn’t protest, which makes Harry blush and clear the table so that he has something to do with his hands.

Harry locks up and then they’re back in the car, humming along to the radio as they drive along the empty roads. Peter and Nick hand them a very much asleep Shelly and they aren’t in any better shape themselves. All in all, Harry wants to say that they can have a repeat of tonight anytime Zayn wants, because he really had a lovely time.

Zayn isn’t one for small-talk, but Harry knew that already. It’s fine though, because Harry can fill those short silences by himself no problem. It’s not too difficult for him to chatter about a new recipe, new appliances or Shelly’s feeding schedule. Harry talks and Zayn hums, paying attention while he thinks whatever he’s thinking – Harry doesn’t care as long as he keeps looking at him while he does it.

Zayn’s the one that Peter passes Shelly to, so he’s the one who carries he carefully while Harry sooths a hand over her back every time she sniffles into Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn’s also the one to take her upstairs while Harry tidies around the living room quickly, just picking up the odd toy here and there to put them all in their appointed places.

But then Harry’s all done and Zayn still hasn’t come back, so he quickly decides to check on Shelly now instead of later, before he goes to sleep. Not that he won’t check on her again later. There’s just something about a sleeping baby, the calmness, their quick breathing, the way they clutch to their blankets even in the summer. There’s something about watching how the most important thing in your life sleeps peacefully that soothes Harry.

When Harry gets upstairs though, Shelly’s bedroom door is opened a sliver and as he peers inside, Zayn’s already there, leaning over her crib and predictably combing his fingers through her short fair hair.

Zayn hears Harry before he feels how he wraps himself around his back, more soothed than he’s been in a while.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, and if his lips brush against Zayn’s neck as he does so, Zayn doesn’t mention it. “What’re you doing?”

“Just, making sure she’s asleep,” Zayn whispers back, leaning his head against Harry’s. “And maybe I like knowing she’s okay,” he adds, barely audible.

Harry chuckles quietly, because he knows, he gets what Zayn means. As much as seeing she’s okay, that she doesn’t have nightmares calms Harry, it’s thinking she’s lying wide awake in her crib without making a sound because she’s too alone, too afraid, that sends the kind of fear down his spine he’s never known before. It’s a tangible sensation – the fear – like a monster hiding under her crib that Harry has to slay, has to keep away. If it means spending the whole night leaning over her crib, so be it.

And even though he chuckles, he knows neither him nor Zayn find it funny.

So he says, “Come on,” and goes to take Zayn’s hand to lead him away from Shelly’s room. “We need to sleep too.”

Harry pulls the door behind them closed, but he leaves it ajar a little, so that they’ll hear if Shelly wakes up – not that the baby monitors Harry has next to his pillow and Zayn has next to his couch don’t do that already, it’s better to be safe than sorry. But the moment his hand leaves the door, he’s being pulled and then he’s being pushed, his back hitting a wall, and then Zayn’s kissing him. Or he’s kissing Zayn, Harry’s not sure.

What Harry does know is that they’re not smooth or collected. It’s not the kind of kiss you’d write about, the kind that smells of roses or shines like the sun. You couldn’t capture it with a tidy metaphor or some smart allegory, not with the way Zayn swipes his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip and Harry opens his mouth like he’s beginning for more, saying _yes yes yes_. It’s not so much fireworks as it’s heat and it’s dirty and it’s Harry pushing Zayn’s t-shirt up his sides until Zayn lifts his arms so Harry can take it off for him.

Zayn bites Harry’s lip and the corner of his jaw, his shoulder, and Harry licks along Zayn’s clavicle, outlining the ink on Zayn’s chest with his tongue like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. And Harry thinks he could write about that, about Zayn’s smooth skin, how it was made for Harry to move his mouth from Zayn’s neck to his nipple, just to hear that sharp intake of breath he knows is coming.

“You’re wearing,” Zayn starts, as he moves his mouth closer to Harry’s, kissing him again before he says, “too many clothes,” onto his lips.

Harry thinks he agrees, he knows he’s nodding as he tries to unbutton is shirt as quickly as he can, but it’s kind of difficult to focus when Zayn keeps sucking bruises onto his neck and pulling at the hems of Harry shirt. But he manages, and as soon as Harry’s shirt falls to the floor, he’s being pulled and pushed again, from this way to that, his hip bumping into furniture as he tries to keep up with Zayn.

With an especially painful bump, Harry’s saying, “In here, come on,” and pushing them both towards the first door he finds with his back. They stumble through unceremoniously, but they don’t hit anything on their way to the bed, so Harry counts as a win as his back hits the mattress and Zayn crawls on top of him.

But then Zayn’s saying, “Wait,” and really, the only thing Harry can do is whine and pout up at him when Zayn sits back on his calves. “It’s their bedroom.”

“What?” But when Harry’s vision adapts to the darkness as well as it can, he sees the wall of closets, the neat white desk, the white frame of the bed and the throw pillows to his right. “Oh.”

“Why have we not been in here before?”

“Because it’s weird?”

“It’s not like they’re gonna use it again though,” Zayn whispers then, in contradiction to his words.

“They can’t hear you, you know?” Harry says with a smile, but all it gets him is a soft punch to his shoulder.

“Shut up, I know. It’s nice though, spacious.”

Harry grins at the way Zayn’s looking over at the desk and the futon in the corner, the large windows and the heavy curtains stretching to cover them. “Here’s an idea,” Harry prompts, moving his hands to Zayn’s hips. “What if you shut up and come back here?”

Zayn turns his head and smirks down at him, licks over his lips the bastard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry sinks his nails into Zayn’s hips, just to emphasize his point.

“Well, first thing’s first,” Zayn says and then he’s standing up which is exactly the opposite of what Harry wanted.

It’s not really though, because Zayn’s standing at the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them off slowly, like he’s giving a show to Harry, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and Harry doesn’t doubt it for a second. Not with the way Zayn hooks his fingers into his jeans and underwear before he pulls them both down in one go, until he’s bear and beautiful, smirking down at Harry, who’s a second away from jumping off the bed to get his hands on Zayn again.

But Harry collects himself enough to start unbuttoning his jeans as well, even if with trembling fingers. Zayn helps him though, so as soon as his zipper is down, Zayn starts pulling on the ends of his jeans, but all it does it make Harry laugh. He’s shimmying his hips, trying to lift them off the bed to help, which really only makes him nearly kick Zayn in his beautiful face.

By the time Harry’s jeans are on the floor, Zayn’s collapsed on top of him in a fit of giggles, laughing into Harry’s neck and being completely useless and far as Harry’s concerned. “Zayn,” Harry whines, nudging at his side. “Can you focus please?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Zayn mumbles, lifting himself onto his elbows. “How do you even get into those?”

Harry pouts. “It’s not that difficult.”

“Oh god,” Zayn bites his lip. “You jump around, don’t you? I thought I heard you jumping in the mornings, but I thought you were doing some weird Pilates exercises or something.”

“Um, excuse you. It’s yoga and those jeans look fabulous on me.”

“They do make your ass look extra perky,” Zayn says before he licks over his lips again. He needs to stop doing that if he doesn’t want Harry to lose his mind.

But Harry just grins. “I know, that’s why I wore them tonight.”

“Oh, so you were hoping I’d notice?”

He grins wider. “I knew you’d notice, I was hoping you’d something about it.”

“You…” Zayn starts, but he kisses Harry instead, which yes, Harry’s all about Zayn kissing him again and again, over and over until their lips are swollen and all they can taste is each other. “God, look at you”

Zayn lifts himself up on his elbows again, his pupils blown, his lips ruby red and Harry squirms. He likes the attention, thrives under wandering eyes and he melts under praise and compliments, but it’s different when it’s coming from Zayn, when he can feel how turned on, how hard Zayn is. It’s different when Zayn bites his lips before he leans back down to bite at Harry’s. It’s heightened when Zayn hums like he’s just thought of something wonderfully delightful before he lowers himself enough to align his mouth with Harry’s nipples and Harry knows exactly what’s coming.

He gasps when Zayn finally leans down, licking around before he bites a little, not hard enough to hurt, just so that Harry tangles his fingers in his curls and pulls, just so that he gasps again when Zayn’s fingers move to his other nipple.

Harry couldn’t ask for more, he wouldn’t really, not with Zayn’s smart tongue, but then he thinks he should, because he’s hard and he can feel he’s getting wet, can feel how the head of his cock is smearing precome all over his skin. Harry doesn’t have to though, because Zayn’s hand disappears for a second before Harry’s toes are curling and it’s all he can take.

Zayn’s wrapping his hand tightly around the base of Harry’s cock and Harry wants to thank him, he really does, it’s on the tip of his tongue, but all that comes out is a strangled moan. He lets Zayn jerk him off once, twice, lets him pull another time before Harry’s flipping them over inelegantly so that he can get his knees between Zayn’s legs.

By some miracle, Harry doesn’t end up twisting them off the bed. He laughs when Zayn groans though, because he’s sure he kneed him somewhere, but to make up for it, Harry leans down and kisses Zayn gently, making it better.

“Slow down babe,” Zayn murmurs onto his lips, but he’s smiling too now and there’s something in the way he says _babe_ that gives Harry a new sense of purpose.

He knows he’s optimistic when he turns around and opens the nightstand closest to him. It takes a few seconds of moving books and tissue packets around, but Harry finds the tube quickly enough to jump back on Zayn.

“How do you wanna do this?” Harry asks. It’s not hot or particularly sexy, doesn’t do anything for the _mood_ , but the technicalities might get complicated now, so all Harry can do is ask and hope. And when Zayn doesn’t do anything besides open his legs wider to let Harry get closer to him, Harry makes himself promise to thank every possible deity he can think of. “Yeah?” he still asks, because it does help with the mood, the way his voice wraps around the word, raspy and raw.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods and lifts his hands above his head in the most leisure way possible, like he’s stretching all sultry and sexy without trying too hard, like he knows exactly what it’ll do to Harry.

There’s not much more of Zayn that Harry can handle without coming all over him soon, so he gets busy with clicking the lube open and dripping some on his fingers. He makes a point to not look at Zayn as he rubs his fingers together and then to not listen too closely when he scooches down the bed before he leans down to lick at the head of Zayn’s cock just because it’s right there and Harry’s wanted to do it ever since Zayn stood in front of him.

It’s finally Zayn’s turn to gasps and moan when Harry takes more of him in his mouth as he dips his fingers down to his thighs. He circles a finger around Zayn’s rim, feeling the tight muscles contract a little before he breaches the ring slowly, so slow he knows it’s going to drive Zayn crazy.

And Harry might not have any notable recent practice with this, but he has experience, he has credentials that he doesn’t exactly want to brag about now, but they’re there. He knows how to twist his tongue around Zayn’s dick to make him moan sweetly before he adds another finger to make Zayn swallow his moan before it sees the light of day.

Before Zayn can beg, before Harry loses his mind and all semblance of clear thinking, he scissors his fingers, twists and turns his wrist just _so_ and licks at Zayn’s cock one last time. Harry lowers his head and with a new found wave of control, breathes a tight stream of air over his fingers. It’s lovely how Zayn’s legs twitch, how his arms stretch out, the way Zayn’s neck elongates when Harry flicks his eyes up to see his face. And the sound Zayn makes when Harry licks out between his fingers is even lovelier.

“Oh god,” Zayn moans, this broken little sounds that sends a thrill all along Harry’s spine. “Harry, just– come on.”

“’M not done yet,” Harry teases, nipping at Zayn’s rim gently as he keeps his fingers perfectly still.

“Yes, you are,” Zayn bites out, lifting himself up as best as he can.

He’s debauched, it’s the only way Harry would describe the look on Zayn’s face right now, with his blown pupils and bitten lips, his hair a mess. He’s hot, he’s so beautiful like this that Harry’s really starting to think he should take more time. Be especially thorough. But then Harry also wants to do what Zayn tells him to. It’s a bit of a struggle to decide really, but Harry also remembers how painfully hard he is, and the decision is made pretty easy.

“Bossy,” Harry remarks with a smirk as he opens the nightstand again and goes to find a condom. “I like it.”

“You won’t if you don’t speed up.”

“Oh,” Harry says as he bites at the foil and stars slipping the wrapper over himself. “I think I will, actually.”

Zayn starts to laugh, but the sounds fades away when Harry crawls closer to him, bracing himself with a hand near Zayn’s head.

“It’s like that, huh?” Zayn asks quietly, but it sounds like a dangerous dare Harry is already fantasizing about, even as he grips at his base and aligns himself with Zayn.

“You,” Harry starts to say with his eyes on his dick, but then he changes his mind when he leans his tip right onto Zayn’s rim, and moves his eyes up to Zayn’s, because he doesn’t want to miss this. Harry smirks filthily right as he finishes with a quick, “have no idea,” before he’s pushing in and all sense of comprehension slip away.

It took a moment for Zayn to adjust, so Harry kept still as best as he could, but he couldn’t help the small rolls his hips made, because he needed to adjust as well. Zayn’s so tight, so hot and so lost beneath him, Harry needed to close his eyes until Zayn stared mumbling, “move, move, fucking move already.”

Usually, Harry likes to take it slow. He likes to fuck and kiss, loves to listen to those breathy moans and feel sharp nails running gently over his back. Usually, Harry starts off slow with a dirty roll of his hips and a bite on the shoulder, on the neck. He doesn’t take it slow this time though, doesn’t do much more than brace his other hand next to Zayn’s head before he’s digging in his knees, pulling out and listening for a broken moan when he pushes back in, fast and hard.

Harry’s moving them up the bed every time he fucks into Zayn and Zayn’s trying his hardest to keep a strong grip on the sheets to keep them in place, but he can’t, not with the way Harry’s putting all of his weight into it, digging his knees and feet into the mattress and pulling Zayn closer by his hips.

He’s not gonna last long, Harry knows it, and neither is Zayn. They keep talking, keep saying words that go over their heads as soon as they say them. Harry hears his name in the midst of _fucks_ and _harders_ and he’s sure the only words he can say as Zayn grabs at his ass and pulls him closer every time Harry moves his hips are, “tight, so tight.”

“God, Harry, I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Harry grabs at Zayn’s hips and pulls, really pulls, so that he makes Zayn sit on his lap and then with another thrust, Zayn’s lifting himself up and Harry’s helping him, groaning when they’re finally chest to chest and Harry goes to grab at Zayn’s cock. It’s closer like this and as much as Harry can’t thrust his hips like before, it’s tighter and Zayn can bite at Harry’s neck and his shoulder and they can kiss between moans.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, lifting Zayn up a little before he brings him down again and pushes his hips up. His grip gets tighter on Zayn and then Zayn’s clenching around him, coming hot over Harry’s hand. The smell of sex and the shining bright light is all Harry can think about when his hips stutter and he’s coming too, pulling Zayn down down down onto himself until there isn’t an inch left between them. It’s like swimming in a fire, coming undone, like taking your last breath of air because all you are is a gush of wind drifting over a field.

—————

“You think they planned this?” It’s been at the back of Harry’s mind for a couple of weeks now, like a seed that he’s been carefully watering with overthinking. And now it’s bloom, because he’s falling comfortably closer to sleep, drifting right on the edge of it. Zayn’s arm is around Harry’s shoulder and his fingers are in his hair, tangling around his curls and lulling Harry, petting him into sated-ness. It’s like he knows it’s Harry weakness, that he wouldn’t want to move away from someone combing through his hair. But if Zayn’s unwilling for Harry to move, then Harry’s in no position to object.

They opened the windows and pulled away the curtains to let in the fresh night air. They changed the sheets and took a quick shower, because as it turns out, Zayn doesn’t like lying on a dirty bed with sticky hot skin. Harry never minded it himself, but he can learn to love showers with a lazy Zayn. They finally collapsed back into bed spent and sated, and they haven’t been drifting off to sleep for more than five minutes before Harry had to bring it up.

It worked out, if Louis and Liam planned that Harry would find Zayn’s moody snarky comments charming after a while. If their plan was to stick Harry and Zayn close enough for long enough until one – or both – broke down and just _let it happen_ , against everything that Harry is – organized, a planner, a never-just-let-things-happen-type of person – then good on them.

“What? Us?” Zayn asks as he shifts so that he can hold Harry’s other hand, the one at his side.

“Yeah.”

“Nah, they couldn’t have seen this coming.” It’s like Zayn waves it off, but with each second, Harry’s not so sure. He’s convincing himself that it was all a part of Louis’ grand scheme of things. A person like Louis has to have a grand scheme of things.

“You’re saying Louis didn’t know this is exactly what we were gonna do?”

“Well…”

“You remind me of him, you know,” Harry throws out there without a second thought, because it’s true. He’s always been kind of jealous of the way Zayn and Louis clicked so fast, almost as fast as Louis and Liam did. At the beginning, a couple of weeks after they all came home from Paris, Harry was seriously considering the option of Louis and Zayn running off somewhere, eloping and living their lives without Harry or Liam. It was just a brief thought though, one of those _what if’s_ that pops into your head when you’re trying to sleep and Harry’s always been talented at creating fantasies in his head. Harry’s ex told him he was a freaking mastermind at it.

Harry bonded with Liam quickly after though, started going to the gym with him and Liam started cooking and laughing at Harry’s jokes, so they were just as close as Louis and Zayn in no time. Well, some time and maybe half as close.

There were these little things that Harry kept noticing, that he couldn’t help but pick up on from both Zayn and Louis. They both had this smirk, this twist of their lips that meant nothing but horrible and painful trouble. They could talk with each other without saying a word – just a flick of an eyebrow, a _look_ and they’d know what the other meant. Harry never picked up on that kind of thing with Louis and Liam, so he didn’t know what to think. In the end, when the looks and the smirks and that mischievous glint in their eyes never went away, Harry smiled it off, nudging Liam to come hang out with him when those two were busy causing mayhem somewhere else.

“Of Louis?”

“Of Liam too, but more of Louis, yeah,” Harry says, thinking over his words as Zayn keeps his fingers moving. It’s difficult to not just close his eyes and purr. “You were both, um… unpredictable?”

“Unpredictable?” Zayn asks as he laughs. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“You have to own who you are, Zayn,” Harry teases, pressing himself closer onto Zayn’s chest. “Just look at me, I’m a proud control freak.”

“But you’re a cute control freak. I don’t see how I can be cute and unpredictable.”

To his best abilities, and Harry thinks he’s also mastered the art of unintentional humiliation besides fantasizing, Harry can’t contain the squawk bubbling in his chest. He’s a mess of heated cheeks and giggles in a matter of seconds, trying to cover up the in-human sounds he just made by biting at Zayn’s peck to divert his attention.

“See?” Zayn coos, and Harry’s sure the diversion did not work. “So cute.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be mean.”

Harry bites at Zayn’s skin again as a halfhearted apology and then sucks a bruise just because he can and Zayn isn’t protesting. He kisses over the red blotch and lifts himself up a little when Zayn nudges his shoulder.

“I got an idea.”

“That’s exactly what I was talking about!” Harry says too excitedly. “Your eyes do this thing,” he points at Zayn’s face, “where I know what you’re thinking is a bad idea without even hearing about it.”

“Have you heard of a little thing called the benefit of the doubt?” Zayn muses, but he’s grinning. He’s hopeless.

“Fine then, surprise me.”

“I know for a fact that Louis has, let’s say some contraband, in his nightstand.”

Harry gapes. “Weed? You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? It might loosen you up, Mr Control Freak.”

“But, Shelly’s asleep in the next room.”

“Exactly,” Zayn nods. “She’s asleep.”

“No, absolutely not.” Harry’s lifting himself away from Zayn until he’s sitting at his side with his legs and arms crossed. “We can’t.”

“Harry.”

“Zayn.”

—————

 

“You should bake us brownies next time,” Zayn mumbles as he licks over the rizla to roll the joint. Harry’s never felt as a bigger delinquent as he does now, sitting opposite Zayn with illegal and old weed between them.

“I like cupcakes better,” Harry states thoughtlessly, because his brain is trying to catch up with the fact he’s about to get high in about a minute. It’s not like he’s never smoked – he was Louis’ best friend after all – it’s just that he’s never been high with someone other than Louis, who knew he couldn’t let Harry get stuck in his head for too long. So Harry’s trying to not be in his head at all right now, that’s why he says, “I’ll make us pot cupcakes next time,” so easily.

Zayn stops rolling for a second to shoot him a wide eyed smile and even when Harry thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, if baking some pot desserts will make Zayn look at him like that, well then Harry has no one else to blame than Zayn.

“That’s more like it. You’re not even high yet and you’re less control-y.”

“Not less freaky though,” Harry chuckles at his own joke and even manages to make Zayn laugh a little.

“And,” Zayn drawls then, shaking the joint a little and twisting it at the top. “Done.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Now what?”

“Now we light up,” Zayn grins. This is such a bad idea, Harry thinks.

“This is such a bad idea.”

“Harry, you have to relax a little, yeah? And if you’re not all gooey after what he did twenty minutes ago, then you have no other choice if you ask me.”

Zayn’s logic is flawed at best and they both know it. It makes absolutely no sense, but it also makes all the sense in the world. Every other time when Harry smoked, his legs melted a little, his arms floated in midair as his face split with what felt like a permanent grin. His thoughts quieted down and he didn’t know what worrying felt like, how it usually twists his stomach in tight knots that make his eyes water. The logic is flawed, but Harry can’t deny a part of it is true. It really might do him some good to relax. Maybe then he’ll be able to sleep through the night without listening to how the house foundations move, how the wooden stairs crack. Maybe he’ll fall asleep without expecting Shelly to burst out in tears any minute after he closes his eyes.

“You’re right.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Zayn smiles at him as he picks up the lighter. He sets fire to the end of the joint, lighting the left over rolling paper he twisted with one swift inhale. “It’s kinda dry.”

Harry just nods, instead of noting how Zayn’s voice’s gone tight and strained with just the first puff. “Are you gonna pass it on already?”

There’s a split second that Harry can catch because his mind’s still clear enough when Zayn frowns before he manages to pull his eyebrows apart. “Harry, relax,” Zayn murmurs. “You’re making _me_ nervous.” He takes another pull before he’s moving to sit right in front of Harry, their knees bumping together in the middle of the bed, as he says a muffled, “Come here.”

Harry’s led closer by Zayn’s finger underneath his chin until there’s barely any room left between them, until Harry can feel how Zayn starts to exhale slowly onto his lips and he parts his own to inhale just as slowly.

The taste is sour and sharp at first, as Harry feels how the smoke swirls around their lips and into his mouth, warm down his throat and biting in his lungs. Harry holds it in for as long as he can, Zayn nodding minutely but not moving back, so that when Harry finally lets go of his breath, most of it ends up licking at Zayn’s lips again.

“How was that?” Zayn asks and Harry smiles dopily, because Harry’s only ever heard Zayn use this tone with Shelly, when they’re lying on the living room floor and playing together. Zayn has a look, a smile, a vocabulary and a gentleness saved just for Shelly, just for his little lady and Harry couldn’t feel warmer at that. So instead of answering him, Harry closes that inch left between and kisses Zayn, just once, just so as to say, “I’m perfectly happy.”

“That good, huh?”

Ignoring the sappy look on Zayn’s face, Harry asks, “How did you know I have to shotgun?” moving onto more important questions.

Zayn shrugs. “Louis.”

—————

It’s a week later that Harry sees Niall again. As soon as Harry opens the door to see a bright eyed Niall standing in front of him with his folders, he remembers that the last time he saw him they were on a date. A date that went really well, but ended with Harry kissing Zayn, and Harry doesn’t have enough experience with these things to know what to do now. He doesn’t know if he should frown a little in a symbol of remorse or smile and pretend like nothing happened, like he didn’t imagine kissing Niall that night too. But then Harry starts to wonder if Niall’s here to tell them he won’t be on their case anymore and Harry didn’t want that, so he starts to frown and smile at the same time. He probably looks as awkward as he feels.

“Hey,” Harry drawls, hoping it’ll do something to change his expression. He doubts it.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Oh, you know, busy busy.”

“I bet, yeah. Shelly keeping you up at night?”

Harry thinks about the night before, where for a change, Zayn and him smoked first and then fucked, slow and languid, all lazy limbs and steady undulating hips. Harry’s never been that loose before, so relaxed, so wound down. His skin was hot and sticky, sweaty and blotchy red as he kept pulling Zayn closer. Harry’s mind was just blurry enough to only focus on how Zayn’s back arched, how he should raise his leg a little to get a better angle to hit Zayn’s spot with every thrust. Lying on their sides, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so close to someone as he was to Zayn last night. If it didn’t sound so ridiculous, he would’ve said he felt like they were becoming one, like they were melting together, soldering into one tangible thing with blinding light. If he wasn’t high when Zayn rolled his hips back to meet Harry’s, Harry would’ve come right then and there. But Harry was just hazy enough, just languid enough to breathe through it and thrust his hips again, deeper, faster, harder.

“Um, no,” Harry shakes his head. He can feel how his whole face is burning up and even if Niall notices, Harry hopes he can’t tell where his mind wandered off to for a second. “No, she’s sleeping all through the night.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods in agreement, leaning against the door. When Niall just stands there looking at him expectantly, Harry thinks he missed something, that he daydreamed longer than he thought, but then he almost smacks himself as he steps back and motions for Niall to come in. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Is Zayn here?” Niall asks, looking around like he’s searching for something.

“Mhm, in the living room.”

“Great.”

—————

“So,” Niall starts once they’re all settled down on the couches with Shelly gurgling happily in Zayn’s lap. “How are you two? Getting along?”

Harry’s brain short-circuits for a split-second, so he says, “Us?” at the same time as Zayn says, “Why wouldn’t we be getting along?” He can see how Niall’s face does a _thing_ that’s not his usual bright smile, and more than anything, Harry feels compelled to change that. “Everything’s good,” he says. “Good, good, good.”

It doesn’t change Niall’s expression by much, but it does lighten the air a little, going from awkward to simply uncomfortable. “Well, have you thought about the future at all? What your plans are together?”

“I mean, this is all still pretty new,” Harry starts, his eyes skipping from Niall to Zayn and back to Niall, because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. “So we don’t have any _plans_ together as of right now.”

“I kind of have a plan?” Zayn says quietly, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this reserved.

“You do?” Harry’s looking just at Zayn now, because he needs to see if Zayn’s joking or if he’s being as serious as he sounds. “I didn’t know you were the planning type.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m not. But I have a plan with Shelly. I want a plan with you.”

“That’s good,” Harry nods and smiles because he can’t help himself. “I like your plan.”

“So you two are together now, huh?”

Harry’s head snaps around. “Um…” It’s all that comes out of his mouth and it’s both a good and a bad thing, because the only other thing he wants to do is apologize. For what, he’s not exactly sure. “I mean…”

“Our personal relationship isn’t going to affect our parenting, we can promise you that,” Zayn states stoically. He’s composed and closed off, like he was weeks ago, before Harry made a crack in his shell.

“Okay.” Niall nods, once, looking very official. And then without a second’s pause, he asks, “So does your plan include a weeding?”

Harry winces, at the question or at Niall’s tone, he doesn’t know which. Zayn chokes a little.

“What’re you gonna do if you two don’t work out? Split the house in two?”

“No, of course not,” Harry tries to save the situation, but then Niall’s interrupting him mid thought.

“Look, we have one more meeting scheduled and I’d like for you two to work out your personal situation as well as your parenting one.” Niall gives them both a heavy look before he stands up, folders in hand. “You’re my easy case and honestly, I’d like to keep it like that. Please. So work it out.”

They’re both nodding at him, saying their okay’s and yeah sure’s, definitely’s.

“Great. I’ll see you next time then,” Niall says and turns around.

Half an hour after he’s left, Harry and Zayn still haven’t said anything. Shelly’s on the floor in the living with Zayn while Harry sits on the couch and watches them play. It was easy before Niall came over. It was fun and easy and Harry hasn’t feel so relaxed without drinking a bottle of wine and a long bath before. It only lasted a week, but they settled into it Harry thinks, into light touches and soft morning kisses, bath times with Shelly where they told her stories about her parents and all the wild adventures they dragged Harry and Zayn on.

They just started to be a family, a unit that felt more than just friends of friends living together to raise a one-year-old child. Harry started seeing Zayn as something more than before, something more concrete and permanent – a plan Harry can count on. But now, as he’s rolling around with Shelly on the floor, Harry doesn’t know what Zayn is anymore. If he’s just Shelly’s other guardian, his friend, his more-than-friend or none of the above. Nothing at all.

—————

Harry expected to drown in the sweet scent of apple pies. Or not apple, maybe cherry or blueberry or lemon, but definitely that warm smell of freshly baked desserts that fits a neighborhood yard picnic. He didn’t exactly slave over a stove himself, but he did bake a little something, little treats for the kids to snack on when they get tired from their water gun fights or flower crown weaving.

It’s the middle of July, the middle of what could only be described as unbearable scorching summer where the sun is high in the sky, sweltering and unforgiving on Harry’s bear arms and Zayn’s naked shoulders. Harry had insisted – after he slathered sunblock all over Shelly’s delicate peach skin with an extra layer or two on her face even if she’s wearing a sunhat now – that Zayn should put some sunblock on as well. To say he was surprised when Zayn gave him a blank stare as an answer would be lie, but what Harry didn’t expect was Zayn sighing, huffing and groaning under his breath as he approached him slowly with hunched shoulders, like he was getting himself in a certain position for some kind of torture. But Harry was happy even if Zayn was obviously annoyed. Maybe he was happy because of it too. Maybe just a little. So now Zayn’s shoulders are shiny and oily in the sun, glistening with the appropriate protection, but really, if Zayn didn’t want to wear sunblock, then he shouldn’t have worn a tank. Harry told him this as well, admittedly without conviction, because Zayn’s bear shoulders and exposed sides aren’t something Harry can object to wholeheartedly.

As they walk from their house and down the block to where the lemonade stands and waterslides are set up, zigzagging around running kids and tired looking parents, Harry fixes Shelly’s hat so that the front is a bit higher. Zayn’s happy to carry her on his hip as of right now, but Harry knows that sooner or later he’ll set her down and running without seeing isn’t something Harry wants to deal with today.

The sun is unforgiving, although there are cotton candy clouds throwing shade over patches of grass where some of the parents have set up either a stand of food and drinks or a checkered blanket, as if they’ve been saving to use it just for this occasion, just so that they look like that white picket fence American family on a hot summer day, picnicking because they can afford it, not because they want the sun to kiss their skin.

Harry spots some of the neighborhood watch, sans Peter and Amanda, who must be running after the kids. They’re all lazily lounging around a table full of food, probably Peter’s casseroles and some pastries Amanda likes to experiment with – Harry hopes she used one of his recipes today.

Zayn nods at their table with his eyebrows raised and Harry smiles and nods back, mindful of the tray he’s carrying. It was either the food or Shelly, and with Harry’s luck, he’s rather break the glass tray than her. Before they even reach the table, Harry can feel how his t-shirt is sticking to his back already, his skin hot and sweaty – the clouds are clearly not doing their job.

“Hey, you finally came,” Nick greets with a shake of what Harry thinks is a margarita.

“And you brought food.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nick eyes Jess accusatorily, but he gets distracted by his drink fast enough.

“What did you bring?”

Harry smiles tightly, shrugging as he puts the tray down. “Tiny hotdog wraps, tiny pizzas and tiny strudel slices.”

“What’s with the tiny food?” Ben pipes up. Harry would’ve bet he was asleep not even a second ago.

Jess elbows him appropriately.

“It’s for the kids,” Zayn deadpans. “So keep your hands off of it.”

“Wow, mean,” Ben says, just as coldly as Zayn. But then he smiles, this overly bright, overly polite drag and twist of his lips, like he’s either thought of something brilliant or a second away from passing out again. “I like you.”

“Anyway,” Harry drags. There’s a tension in the air with the way Ben’s still grinning and Zayn’s drawn together eyebrows that Harry wants to cut away at with a knife. All he has to use though is a tray full of snacks and his jokes. So he unwraps the pvc off of the hotdogs and pizzas and says a cheerful, “Knock, knock,” looking at Shelly, as if she has any idea how those work.

“Oh god, please don’t cooperate, these never go over well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Zayn mumbles as he walks over to a laid out blanket and sets Shelly down along with her bag – that’s full of her toys per Shelly’s request, of course. Harry learned the important lesson of never asking a toddler what they wanted to pack for a trip. A crucial lesson in fact, because they don’t have a single diaper in the bag. Not a one.

“Harry, Harold,” Nick starts and judging by his tone, that’s not his first margarita. “I think what out dear Zayn is trying to say here is that you’re not funny. I mean, if you ask me, the fact your jokes are so bad is hilarious, but you know…”

“No, I don’t actually,” Harry says, putting his hands on his hips.

“Boys, boys.” Jess’s finally brought out of her thoughts. She’s leaning forwards in her lounger, a sippy cup in her hands. “Can we manage _one_ picnic without a fight? Please?”

“Who’s fighting?”

“I’m not fighting.”

“Well, your tone was awfully rude.”

“It’s ‘cause your jokes are awfully dry.”

“ _Zayn_.” Harry’s only a little ashamed for stomping his foot, but Zayn should really be doing and saying something in his defense. If not for anything else, than because they’re roommates, because they’re raising a kid together. That means something, right?

“Don’t bring me into this babe.”

“Did you just _babe_ him?” Nick’s tone changes from nasally to high-pitched, curious or at least intrigued. “Did you hear that?”

Jess nods. “I did, yeah.”

“What?”

“Well,” Gavin starts, the only one who at least sounds serious, even if Harry hears a tinge of boredom in his voice as well. “There’s a bet or I guess there was a bet. And I think Jess won.”

“I sure did. Pay up please.”

Harry’s still confused when Nick groans and pulls out his wallet, pulling out a crumpled twenty and passing it along to Jess.

“You actually bet on us?” Zayn asks and Harry could throw a fit, because _this_ is the moment he chooses to voice his protest instead of when Harry was being personally attacked? “What did you have?”

“I said it would take you till autumn to finally, you know… do the _deed._ ”

“I said summer,” Jess says with a grin.

By that point, Ben is back to laying back on his chair with his eyes closed, so as far as Harry knows, he’s asleep, though he’s apparently full of surprises. Zayn turns to Gavin and raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to add his two cents.

“Oh no,” Gavin shakes his head. “I didn’t bet on you two, I would never.”

“Pff, that’s only because Amanda didn’t let you.”

“If I remember correctly, Peter wasn’t too enthused either.”

“It’s my money.” Nick’s raises his chin for a couple of inches and Harry can sense this is an old debate they’ve stumbled on.

They all go on bickering for a while after that, conversations about things he doesn’t know enough to participate, but he doesn’t want to anyway. Zayn’s made a circle around Shelly with her toys and now she’s spinning around crazily, giggling each time she stumbles a little, too dizzy to keep her balance.

“You’re cleaning her if she throws up,” Harry says as he walks over to them and sits next to Zayn.

“She likes it.” Zayn’s grinning at Shelly as she almost falls back on her behind, but he catches her just in time, mumbling a quiet, “Ops,” as he rights her.

“Doesn’t mean she won’t throw up.”

“Okay, that’s it.”

“What, what’s it?”

But before Harry gets his answer, Zayn’s standing and picking up Shelly and then he’s offering Harry his palm. Harry stands with a bit of trouble, but as soon as he’s upright, Zayn’s entwining their fingers and leading them away from what could only be another spat between Jess and Nick.

—————

“You make a lovely butterfly.”

“You think?” Harry grins. He can feel how the paint’s drying on his face, absorbing every last bit of moisture and sweat that was lining his hairline – Harry isn’t sure if it’s a good or a bad thing. His entire body feels clammy by this point, his skin hot all over, because the last lonely cloud has somehow vanished from the sky and with it went the bit of shade that was left. The air is heavy and humid. Harry would do anything for a cold Popsicle right about now – he may have been listening for the telltale sounds of an ice cream truck for a good hour.

“The prettiest.”

“You make a hot tiger,” he laughs, but when Zayn raises his hand and twists it into a paw, growling above Shelly’s head, Harry loses it. He doubles over, has to clench at his stomach and take a deep breath. “Never in a million years did I think I’d see you do that.”

“What?” Zayn laughs too. “It’s for the kids.”

“I’m sure it is, yeah.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

Harry smirks. “Oh nothing, nothing.”

Zayn gives him a dubious look, but instead of making some snarky comment back, he focuses on Shelly instead, looking down at her in his lap as he pinches her cheek lightly. “What about you, little lady? Do you like being a little tiger?”

“Tigress?”

Zayn frowns up at him, looking serious and confused for a second, before he chuckles and says, “I don’t think we should burden her with gender roles and all that.”

“Oh.” Harry really only wanted to figure out what a female tiger is called. “No, no, we don’t want to do that.”

“You know,” Zayn starts then and Harry already likes where this is going, because the small smile tugging at Zayn’s lips means he’s thought of something good. It took Harry some time – and he thinks it’s only because he couldn’t stand Zayn before and never paid too much attention to anything he did – to learn his tells. What it means when he runs a thumb over his eyebrow or under his chin. How Zayn can smile with just his eyes and mean it as much as if he’d be grinning. And the one Harry needed the longest to get was Zayn’s stance, all squared shoulders, crossed arms and feet set wide apart, like he’s ready for a fight, like he’s taking a battle stance. Really, it’s just the way Zayn stands. Harry didn’t get it, because the way he stands is twisted limbs that are never still. But now Harry knows, and that small thing of a smile playing around Zayn’s eyes means he’s gonna say something ridiculously cheesy and be only a little embarrassed by admitting it. And Harry feels so proud of himself for knowing that. “I think we’re gonna be the best guardians anyone’s ever seen.”

“You think?” Harry grins. He can feel how his face goes through at least fifty different shades of red.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums in appreciation of Zayn’s hope. It’s so easy to get lost in the moment of Zayn smiling at him and Shelly gurgling at the bird in the trees, that Harry’s leaning in before he knows what he’s doing.

But right as Zayn licks his lips and shifts his head to the side a little, someone says, “Zayn?” from behind them and the moment is broken. Harry hopes it comes back soon.

“Um,” Zayn shakes his head. “Yeah?”

They both turn around, even Shelly raises her head to look over Zayn’s shoulder. And if she’s anything like her late father or her present guardian who has his arm wrapped tightly around her middle, she’s throwing a deadly stare at this tall muscly stranger.

“Hey man, I didn’t know you lived around here too.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Zayn’s nodding and scratching at the back of his head. “I moved recently, actually.”

The guy laughs this boisterous sound, that honest kind of laugh, the one coming straight from his stomach when he says, “Then you’ll really hate moving again, huh? But it’ll be worth it, I bet.”

“Again?” Harry says to himself quietly, confused.

“I hear LA isn’t that bad though,” the guy says with a too wide smile exposing his too white teeth.

“Um, yeah, thanks man, I’m still thinking about taking the job,” Zayn stutters out, but all Harry hears is _LA_. “Anyway, nice to see you.”

“You too man. Stop by the stand for some lemonade later. It’s awful, but my son loves making the stuff.”

“We will.”

“Nice meeting you,” the guy waves at Harry who tries to smile back politely, but he doesn’t think he manages. Not with the words _moving_ and _LA, thinking about taking the job_ floating around in front of his eyes with exclamation marks all around. Harry would laugh if he could, because he never thought he was a visual type, could never imagine anything as vividly as these neat, short words before. They’re bright, and for some reason, bright neon pink, blinking like their fuse is about to go, like there’s about to be a big flash before they blow up. Harry thinks they just might.

As soon as the guy turns around, Harry’s grabbing at Shelly until she’s pressed right against his chest. She giggles happily, probably thinking Harry wants to give her a big hug and he does, he always wants to give Shelly a big hug, it’s just that right now, he’d rather give something big to Zayn instead.

“ _Thinking about taking a job_?” he asks, enunciating his words carefully.

Zayn sighs. “I got offered to run my own shop in LA, yeah.”

“And you’re thinking about taking the job?” Harry repeats again, because he doesn’t know if  he’s hearing himself right.  “Or have you already decided?”

“It’s just a thing that was brought up to my attention,” Zayn shrugs, all nonchalant as ever.

Harry doesn’t find it any less irritating than he usually does. “But you didn’t mention it to me?”

“No.”

“Did you not think it was important?”

“Harry…”

“No.” There’s a limit to how much a person can take. Harry imagines it’s a very subjective thing, like a number that fluctuates from person to person, like pain tolerance – a scale of just how hurt you can get before your body gives in. There’s a limit, a certain amount of god awful, shitty things Harry can swallow before he can’t keep it all down anymore. First, Harry’s boyfriend needed a change, he was stuck in a rut, he just couldn’t do it anymore, ‘not like this’, and Harry took it. He took it in stride, because he figured it was better they ended when they did – better than getting a divorce seven years into an unhappy marriage. First, it was good that it happened. But then his best friends died. They just weren’t there anymore, not for Harry, not for Zayn and not for their one year old daughter who needed them most. They were gone and Harry _had_ to take it. There wasn’t an either or, nobody asked Harry if it’s what he wants. Not his friends dying and not about raising their daughter, not really. Because what kind of a person would ever say no to that?

And now – now he has to deal with Zayn too. The one person Harry thought – or has been thinking, hoping – he wouldn’t have to just deal with. Harry thought he wouldn’t have to _take it_ like that. That he wouldn’t ever be _better off_ without him. But, _thinking about taking the job_ is twisting Harry’s thoughts and his hopes into ugly, messy knots he’s going to have to deal with and take yet again. Over and over, as if he hasn’t done so many times before.

“So you’re thinking about leaving us?” he finally asks, shaking Shelly from side to side to keep her calm and happy. She needs to stay calm and happy if Zayn wants to keep his face the way it is. “We’re not some temporary thing, you know, you can’t just drop us and leave.”

“It’s not like that, you know I’d never do that.”

“Oh no? Because it sounds a lot like you’re about to do it right now,” Harry deadpans. Zayn isn’t the only one who knows how to deliver a statement in a hurtful way, in a way that bruises your skin purple.

“Come on, you’re making me sound like the bad guy here.”

“I didn’t think you would be a bad guy, but I guess you’ll be packing your bags tomorrow and leaving, right?” Harry says and then adds, “Or were you planning on taking us with you?” with the most honeyed voice he can muster.

“Hey,” Zayn says, pointing a finger, but it isn’t steady, it isn’t stiff, and it isn’t sure. His hand shakes, like leaves in the wind, like the ground during an earthquake, like Harry’s heart, it’s shaking like it’s going to break anytime. “I did everything for you. I gave up my place for you.”

“It wasn’t for _me_ ,” Harry corrects him coldly. “And I did too. I had to give up everything you did, remember?”

“I sold my car and gave you the money, so you could remodel your bakery.”

“You…” Harry’s thrown back for a second. He looks straight at Zayn, right into his eyes and sees the conviction in them. If there was anything else he could find in his eyes, maybe Harry would take a step back, maybe he’d wave a white flag in the air – but as it is, with every flame that’s burning in Zayn’s words, Harry just throws more gasoline on it. “I never asked you to do that.”

Zayn sighs. “No, you didn’t. I just… I wanted to make you happy.” He says that last past quietly, looking down at Harry’s bare feet, and it’s probably not a great idea to focus on the past tense, on _wanted_ instead of _happy_ , but Harry does. It’s like Harry’s been doing the exact wrong thing for so long, he can’t help himself now, here, in the middle of someone’s yard while kids run around them laughing and unaware.

They’re just talking. If anyone is looking at them they can see they’re standing opposite each other, close, but not as close as they’ve been just this past couple of weeks. They see that Harry’s holding Shelly to his chest, that he’s rocking her back and forth as she has her head leaned against his shoulder. Maybe they think Harry is trying to soothe her. Maybe they can’t see it’s the other way around.

Up until that point, they were just talking to anyone who’s been watching – calmly, collected, both of them keeping their voices down. But then – then Zayn shrugs, like he’s giving up, throwing, “I was just doing what I needed to play this part,” out there like it isn’t supposed to break Harry in half.

And maybe Harry’s had enough before, maybe he’s reached his limit months ago when he lost his best friend and he was just waiting for a reason to _not_ take it, to _not_ deal with something, to forgive or forget. Maybe been a ticking time bomb for months without anyone noticing.

Later, Harry will wonder if his reaction was scaled appropriately, if it there was a logical action-reaction ratio. Later, Harry’s gonna play a game of guessing what else would’ve boiled his blood so fast or set his skin aflame, if there would’ve been a scenario where he’d laugh and shake his head, call Zayn a fool and walk away with his dignity intact.

But not now. Now, Harry narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side, says, “Play this part?” because he’s genuinely hoping Zayn’s suffering a stroke that is messing with his speech.

“We’ve been pretending like we’re married, Harry,” Zayn swipes his fingers through his hair, tight and quick, like he’s trying to mimic the contractions of Harry’s heart. “Like it’s normal that we’re raising someone else’s kid and sleeping in someone else’s bed.”

“Someone else’s kid?”

“She’s not _our_ kid, Harry,” Zayn practically growls, at the end of his tether.

But Harry’s cool, he’s collected, he has a good grip on his tether, because he _has_ to. He has to stay calm, because he’s holding Shelly. He _has_ to raise someone else’s kid, because he made a promise, he gave his signature, and his word is actually worth something. He’s not jumpy and a second away from running off to California. He’s solid and he’s here. Completely here, with his feet on the ground and Shelly half asleep in his arms. So instead of yelling, instead of shoving Zayn as hard as he can, he stares right back at Zayn and asks, “Then whose kid is she?” because Harry knows it’ll hurt just as bad as a punch.

Zayn’s mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, like he’s suddenly underwater, unable to take a proper breath of air. _Good,_ Harry thinks. Zayn should be lost for breath and words and everything in between. Zayn should feel as broken and lost as Harry.

“Huh, Zayn?” Harry presses then, takes a step forward instead of yelling. “So you’ve been pretending with Shelly?”

“No,” Zayn practically shoots out as quickly as anything. “Of course not, I love her.”

Harry chuckles. In the midst of it all, he cackles like Zayn’s told the craziest joke he’s ever heard and he can’t contain his glee. Zayn blinks in his confusion as Harry gives him another look, before he shakes his head and says, “Just not me then,” still smiling.

Harry could tusk or stomp, he could get mad and yell at Zayn – he’s always been a great screamer – give him as best as he’s got. But it would be a waste in the end, Harry realizes this now, as he’s shaking his head with a smile at Zayn. Another second goes by, and then it’s Harry’s turn to shrug.

“Take the job Zayn,” Harry says before he turns around. He takes two steps before he turns his head, saying, “You’re officially off the hook,” just because he can. Because he’ll deal with this as well. Because it’s for the better. Because Harry knows it’ll hurt more than any punch would.

—————

All the leaves are brown. It’s that time of the year when trees change color, from green to yellow to orange to a bleeding red, dying with the shift of season, as if nature can’t last longer, like it needs a vacation too. For how Harry can feel that subtle change from unbearding heat to warm scarfs deep in his bones this year, it’s different this time around, because he’s going on walks around the neighborhood in the afternoons with an excited Shelly, who keeps jumping into piles of leafs so that Harry has to dig her out. But every time Harry finally gets his hands on her, Shelly’s all bubbling giggles and crinkly eyes. Harry tells himself it’s worth it, that this is what he wanted, this it’s what he signed up for. To see Shelly grow up – to _help_ her grow up as best as he can. And if it’s just him digging her out of piles of leafs, well then, it’s the way it’s going to be from now on. Harry’s fine with it.

It’s been four months, almost exactly, since Zayn left. Harry’s actually gotten into the habit of thinking it as ‘abandoned’ – it feels better and it’s more satisfying altogether. But Niall, no longer their social worker, because they – or Harry, has officially been approved as an okay parent, and the person Harry has been seeing a couple of times a week, said Harry needs to move on. That he shouldn’t resent Zayn for opting out. Harry tried to explain to Niall how he doesn’t resent Zayn in the slightest – he really doesn’t. He hates him, detests him, and completely and utterly despises him. But he doesn’t resent him, not even a little bit, because Zayn did something Harry never would – he picked himself over Shelly. And Harry could never resent someone for being so selfish.

After four months, Niall still doesn’t see Harry’s logic though, which is okay, because Harry doesn’t need him too. Harry isn’t looking for pity or sympathy, he doesn’t even want anyone to agree with his reasoning. There was a lesson underneath it all, Harry’s learned, a lesson he’s never quite managed to get through his skull until four months ago, but not it’s stuck: people always leave.

The moment you think you’re attached, the second you start thinking about forevers you should just quit. Quit while you’re ahead, while you still can, while they don’t know what you’re up to. Leave before you can be left, because waking up by yourself for the first time after your boyfriend of three years breaks up with you is going to be the reason you drown yourself in a bottle of white wine every night. You’ll take a bubble bath for every time his name crawls towards the tip of your tongue. Your phone is going to ring in the middle of the night, a cop calling to tell you your best friends had been in an accident, that he’s so sorry to be the one calling you with such bad news. And before you know it, the person you included in your five year plans, the one you saw yourself loving one day, is going to move away because of a career opportunity.

People are going to leave you and it’s not going to sound romantic. You won’t even be able to write poetry about it, because what even rhymes with career opportunity? You’ll have to move on – time and time again – until it turns into something you excel at. _Harry – the move-r, never the move-e._ Always left, even though he never leaves.

That’s why Harry doesn’t care if Niall doesn’t see how Harry’s logic is perfectly fine, because for once in his life, Harry isn’t going to commit so soon. He’s not going to plan or hope or fantasize – he won’t let himself, at least not yet, not so soon, maybe not ever again. Maybe someday, when he _feels_ it, when he’s sure and he’s ready and he won’t need to plan anything because it’ll just happen – the love and the commitment and the right person that’s going to stay. Someone who’s going to choose him and Shelly over everything else. And Niall… Niall is great, but in all honesty, Harry doesn’t think Niall is choosing anything right now. They’re casually dating, eating dinner together from time to time, talking and having a good time, but it isn’t serious. It isn’t anything.

Harry doesn’t want anything for some time, because right now, all he needs is Shelly.

It was the end of August that he postponed the remodel indefinitely. Money has been _complicated_ , that’s what he’s been saying. It’s how he told Lily, _complicated_ , not ‘I’m living on one income and the money Zayn sends for Shelly, so the ends haven’t exactly been meeting’ _._ He doesn’t tell Lily that bills keep piling up and Harry doesn’t want to worry about money now that he has Shelly. So he postpones the extension and puts the house on the market.

It’s too big and too expensive, not empty or overloaded with memories, one after the other, like a sick reminder or everything Harry no longer has and everyone he doesn’t know anymore. It isn’t because it’s too reminiscent of the past, of what Harry had before everything went to _s-h-i-t_.

If Harry were to draw a line though, or look at the Grand Scheme of things, all he’d see is that Shelly’s happy. She’s laughing, running around wildly and she’s just started to talk more, words with a couple of syllables, not just a high pitched _Z_ anymore that sent shivers up Harry’s spine.

Her first word, a perfectly pronounced _cup_ , made Harry go a downward spiral for two days, hydrating her every second he possibly could. He thought it was a cry for help, an immense effort Shelly had to muster to express just how thirsty she was. Harry bought juices of all flavors and started keeping a fresh batch of warm tea at hand at all times, just in case. He never wants Shelly to need anything, to feel like something is missing, like someone isn’t there. It took two days of her repeating _cup, cup, cup_ around the house, and even mumbling it to her teddy, for Harry to take a breath and reevaluate the situation. He only gets worried about her liquid intake once every two weeks now. He’s getting better.

For how he abandoned Harry, Zayn facetimes Shelly every day before bed. He hasn’t missed a day, not a single bed time story for four months, but Harry’s chalking that up to simple competence, which he’ll allow to contribute to Zayn still. And maybe that was where Harry could say he felt resentment, but not for Zayn – for Shelly. This also lasted for a short two day period and it made him think it over too, take a step back and look at his life from afar. Harry’s been taking a lot of steps back for four months.

It’s awkward during the minute as Harry picks up the phone and they exchange pleasantries, but then as soon as Shelly smiles at the phone, squealing for her Zayn as loud as she possibly can, the knots in Harry’s stomach untangle and the heavy weight on his chest floats away.

The stories are usually about a prince and a princess from a last not so far away. The prince had to leave the kingdom one day, because he wasn’t just a prince. He was a magnificent conqueror who was sent to rule over another piece of land. And the prince was so sad all the time, because he had to leave his princess behind, because he has his prince duty to uphold, so he kept sending the princess gifts and letters, making sure that even if the prince was sad, the princess never stopped smiling.

Shelly is a wonderful listener. She frowns when the prince leaves and claps when the gifts are mentioned, is happy just like the princess in the story is. As soon as Shelly’s on her back though, snoring melodically to the sound of Zayn still telling her the story, Harry’s stomach drops again. Every night, without exception.

It’s not that Zayn wants to talk for hours after – usually it’s less than a minute before they hang up – Harry’s just anxious because he might. Zayn might want to chat, catch up or ask Harry how he’s doing. And Harry doesn’t want to tell him he’s doing great, that Niall is amazing with Shelly, that they’ve gone on trips together that Shelly sometimes still babbles about – all the fishies and the ponies and the flowies. Harry doesn’t want to tell Zayn any of it – just as he doesn’t want to mention how some nights, when Harry’s lying in the middle of the guest bed, he remembers how loose-limbed he was not even six months ago. How words slipped past his lips without reservation or without much thought. Harry doesn’t want to say how Zayn ruined those memories and Zayn might not want to hear that either, so every night they exchange the same couple of words and pretend like the prince from the stories never left the kingdom.

“Is she asleep?” Zayn whispers and Harry says a quiet, “Yeah.”

“Okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Same time.”

“Sure.”

“Bye Harry.”

“Bye Zayn.”

And that’s it. Until the next night, Zayn doesn’t call and Harry doesn’t think about him at all. He doesn’t think about Zayn when he talks to Shelly in the mornings, waking her up with aimless chatter and careful fingers combing through her hair. Harry resolutely doesn’t remember how breakfasts were his favorite meal just months ago, because he could listen to Zayn and Shelly goof around while he made eggs or waffles or pancakes. How each morning, he’d get a kiss on the cheek from Shelly and a chaste kiss on the lips from Zayn. Harry doesn’t think about any of it.

It took some getting used to, the whole picking Shelly up and carrying her around, because that wasn’t his job. Harry was the one to pack her bag, to make sure they had diapers and wipes, toys and snacks, the one who ruffled Shelly’s hair and bopped her nose. Harry was the one who kept putting her left shoe on, because she always, always took it off.  Harry wasn’t in charge of bath time or driving with just him and Shelly in the car. They didn’t sign up Shelly for daycare, because with their flexible schedules, they were enough, together, to take care of her. Harry doesn’t like to remember how difficult it was to first find a nanny and then a kindergarten that took one year olds in the middle of summer. Harry’s come to find out he doesn’t like to remember a lot of things anymore.

But it’s thanksgiving, for what it’s worth, and besides the smell of Harry’s perfectly baked crispy turkey and the orange red leafs falling all around the backyard, Zayn’s there too. And Niall. And Shelly, in a lovely blue summer dress that she wanted to wear even if it meant stomping her little foot and threatening to cry when Harry offered her a more season-appropriate outfit. It’s not just them though, it’s the whole Neighborhood Watch that’s decided Harry’s turkey must be the best since he’s a baker and all. And although he’s the first person to talk about his bakery, he didn’t think people assumed making a delicious cupcake will be likened to a whole turkey.

It’s been a mess of a day that begun with a knock on the door and Shelly’s loud screeches of a letter Harry no longer wants to hear. She’s getting a hang of her ‘H’s’ as well though, so at least Harry isn’t jealous. Zayn showed up early, earlier than he usually woke up in the morning, not that Harry remembers such a thing, in simple black jeans and a pressed black shirt, looking better than he has any right to.

It was good though, to have a pair of helping hands while he prepared the turkey, mashed the potatoes and stirred the cranberries. Shelly was kept busy and out of the kitchen and so was Zayn, so Harry had some time to prepare for the day. He didn’t, however, prepare like he should have.

Harry made sure the food was coming along with his schedule, that he remembered to formally invite everyone that already invited themselves with a breezy text and Niall with a phone call first thing in the morning, but that was mostly to remind him to bring the wine. He even started on desert, a blueberry pie which is Lily’s signature dish that Harry wants to try his hand at. He prepared and he planned, and Harry thought the only one to throw him off could be Shelly, with either a fit, an unexpected nap or a problem of any kind, but he thought of that as well. Made sure to have some wiggle room just in case.

What Harry forgot – though he thinks it less slipped his mind and more that he blocked it out – was Zayn. Seeing Zayn show up all smiles and polite unnecessary questions, with wine no one asked him to bring and no more than an overnight bag – if that –raised the hairs on Harry’s neck to no end, because the thought of Zayn not wanting to spend even a day more with Shelly than he absolutely has to is enough for Harry to open that bottle of wine before any of the other guests show up.

After Harry’s cleaned the kitchen twice, made sure everything is as it’s supposed to be and then cleaned the kitchen again, he has nothing left to do but walk into the living room, where he knows what he’ll see. Shelly wearing a wrinkled dress – if she hadn’t taken it off already – and Zayn, with both of them sprawled in the middle of the floor with either a fort of couch pillows surrounding them or Shelly’s chest of toys turned upside out. And Harry isn’t wrong, except it’s not an either-or case.

Shelly squeals as soon as she sees Harry round the corner, which he’s taking to mean a very excited _hi_ he’s been known to extend himself at times. She’s jumping on the carper, pointing at the alignment of her toys silently, sides the occasional high-pitched noise and her dress, Harry notices, is in fact neatly folded just on the outskirts of their fort.

“We sorted your toys, didn’t we Shell?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she nods happily, drooling on her chin a little with such a big grin, Harry can’t help but mirror it himself.

“So,” Zayn starts then, bringing Harry back from his thoughts. He shifts around so that he’s closer to Shelly and then he runs his fingers through her fair hair, making Harry’s fists clench. That’s his job, he thinks, but he steadies himself, waits for Zayn to go on. “You, um, you cut her hair?”

“Yeah.” That’s all Harry says, because he doesn’t have to justify his decisions when it comes to Shelly to anyone, not even Zayn. Not anymore.

“It looks good,” Zayn murmurs, ruffling her hair until Shelly giggles.

Harry nods. He prepared for everything, everything except for Zayn trying to strike up a casual conversation in the middle of the living room. Harry assumed Zayn would avoid him, that he would stay clear from Harry, any and all eye contact or even just being in the same room together. Harry doesn’t know how he forgot to prepare for Zayn.

“How are you?” Zayn asks then, sounding half curious and half reserved with just a hint of caution that _should_ lace his voice.

“Good, you know, busy busy.”

“How’s the remodel coming along?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? It’s, um, it’s postponed.”

“What?” Shelly’s wandered off to her teddy bears at the side of the fort, lined up by size, talking to Mr Bear in her jibber jabber she thinks Harry is fluent in. He almost is. And Zayn’s no longer occupied by the carpet, instead his eyes are piercing Harry’s with big exclamation and question marks.

Harry takes a sip of wine and goes to lean against a drawer. “Yeah, it was just too time consuming and money started to get a bit short, so…”

“But I’m sending you checks every month.”

“That’s just for Shelly,” Harry reasons. “It’ll get a bit better once I sell the house, I hope.”

“You’re selling the _house_?” Zayn’s on his feet now, hands on his hips. “And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

“Ha.” The laugh burst out of Harry all of a sudden, but he wouldn’t have stopped it even if he could. “And why should I? It’s not like you live here anymore, do you?”

“I mean…” Zayn backpedals. Unsuccessfully though, and Harry almost laughs again. “It’s not something you just _do_ Harry. Not without talking to me first, no matter where I live.”

“Zayn,” Harry says, and almost adds a condescending _honey_ too. “I don’t have to talk about anything with you anymore, you do get that, right?” Harry takes another leisure sip. “You kind of lost that privilege when you, you know, left.”

“But–”

“So technically, where you live does matter and since you no longer live here,…”

“Wow,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “You know, I didn’t expect you to be kind or anything, but vindictive doesn’t look good on you Harry.”

Harry snorts. “Would you prefer I look abandoned?” he asks coldly. “Because that’s what I am, right? Thanks to you.”

“Harry…”

“No, you know what? You don’t get to come here and start being all judgy. You _really_ don’t have the right to do that anymore, Zayn. If I want to sell the house, I will sell the fudging house.”

For a second, Zayn looks taken aback, but he recovers quickly enough, clearing his throat before he says a quiet, “I thought this is what you wanted.”

Harry has to blink and take a step forward just to make sure he heard him right. “Are you kidding me? I never wanted this. Not _like_ this!” he raises his voice, but only for a second. He doesn’t want to get worked up in front of Shelly. “I never wanted it the way it happened, not the way I got it and certainly not with someone who never even cared about me.”

“Of course I cared, Harry, I still do,” Zayn whisper shouts. And Harry thinks at least he knows how to do one thing right. But when Zayn adds, “I still love you,” under his breath, as if saying it offhandedly makes it any less true or any less hurtful, like it isn’t a stab right at Harry’s heart – Harry doesn’t even miss a beat before he says a cold and collected, “No, you’re right. We were just… we were pretending to be them.”

—————

Everyone leaves. After they eat in suffocating silence, because the remnants of their fight must have been floating in the air for everyone to see – Niall barely even said hello before he was making excuses about having to do some last minute work. Harry didn’t bother to try to make him stay longer to watch how Harry was engrossed with his turkey, or how Zayn wouldn’t even look anyone in the eye. Harry doesn’t even have the chance to take his pie out of the over before all of their neighbors leave. They all see the tangible mess between them, loud and clear from one end of the tablet to the other, like a big neon sign saying, _We’re fucked up. Deal with it._

Everyone leaves, just like they all do, except this time, Harry welcomes it, because he doesn’t want anyone else to have to sit through the storm that comes an hour later, when Zayn struts downstairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder, apparently done watching Shelly sleep soundly and unaware of it all – that the much needed regularity of her life is crumbling impossibly more.

Zayn clears his throat, it’s something he always did before he spoke out and disrupted the silence, like he’s softening the intrusion of his words. “I, uh, changed my ticket to tonight. So…”

“So you’re leaving?” Harry asks and Zayn nods before Harry has the chance to continue with, “Again,” which leaves Zayn’s head turned up high in a sudden stop.

“Look, Harry. I didn’t come here to fight. If you want to sell the house, you can do whatever you want. I know I have no right in telling you want to do after what I did.”

Harry looks at him for a beat, before he says, “Is that you apologizing?” completely disinterested, because he doesn’t have to be civil or polite or anything he was with Zayn before. Before he left and abandoned him with a kid, who barely has anyone left to take care of her as it is. Zayn doesn’t deserve the kindness that Harry wants to give him.

“No,” Zayn shakes his head. “It’s not. I don’t think I _could_ apologize. At least not enough. Not right.”

“You could try, you know,” Harry sighs. “For once, you could try to do the right thing.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows questioningly, like he’s having a hard time understanding what Harry means. “I did try, you can’t say I didn’t. But it’s like you said, right? I’m off the hook.”

Harry sighs again. He could start another fight, he could raise all hell and show Zayn why not even Louis would get into fights with. Because Harry can yell – he can stand his ground and yell till he’s purple if it’s about something he believes in, someone who deserves so much more than he can give her. Someone who deserves the whole world. But he doesn’t. He sighs again, and his shoulders relax, literally deflate like a wheezing balloon. He takes another second to look at Zayn before he says, “Completely,” turns around and starts walking upstairs.

As Harry reaches the landing he can hear the door click shut. And even though it’s a careful, quiet sound, Harry can still hear it echo an hour later, when he’s lying in bed.  

—————

Harry can see it all play out. He’d call Nick or Jess, maybe even Niall if it came down to it, tell one of them to rush over so someone’s watching Shelly as he’d rush to the airport, breaking every speed limit  while he’d punch the steering wheel at every red right. He’d park right in front of the main door, right in front of the _No Parking_ sign as the tires screeched to a stop, but he wouldn’t care. Harry would run and push people out of the way – gently though, careful to not push too hard. He’d run and he’s run, and he’d buy the cheapest ticket he possibly could so he’d get through security. He’d yell his name, the sound of _Zayn_ carrying all throughout the airport for everyone to hear, for everyone to know exactly what he was doing, as if Harry was the main character in a rom-com, chasing the love of his life. And Zayn would be there, right in front of his boarding gate, looking surprised and so, so happy, maybe even relived as Harry would finally reach him. They would kiss and hug, hold tight to each other, promise to never ever leave, to stay together through thick and thin. Zayn would say he loved Harry again, except this time, he’d proclaim it, he’d say it proudly and confidently, not like it’s a dirty secret or a near mumble under his breath. Onlookers would tweet about them, use the hash tag _goals,_ because they’d look so in love and so hopeful of the future, that they’d want it for themselves too one day.

Harry can picture everything, down to the very words he’d say to Zayn. The simple ‘I love you too’ and ‘Don’t leave’ that he’d probably whisper into Zayn’s neck, like a secret or a wish, one of those you’re supposed to keep to yourself. But he wouldn’t be able to, so he’d plea with Zayn and Zayn would do it, he’d promise to never get on another plane, to never sleep in a bed that wasn’t theirs.

Lying in bed with the covers pulled up to the middle of his chest, Harry can imagine it all so vividly, he almost thinks he did it. It’s something he’s always been good at, fantasizing about things that never happen. His mom said he had a vivid imagination while his ex called him delusional. Harry would say he’s a little bit of both, really. Sometimes, he’s too stuck in his head and his plans and his _could be_ ’s, _one day_ ’s, _if only_ ’s.

Except Harry never imagined this – pretending to sleep in his dead best friends’ house while a practically orphaned child he’s taking care of and loves more than anything in the world sleeps in the room next to his, and the person he thought he could love, the person Harry _was_ falling in love with abandoning him to deal with it all by himself. Out of every possible scenario playing in Harry’s head, this wasn’t one of them.

Even for today, Harry would never say this would’ve happened, or at least not again. He really didn’t think Zayn would leave him again. He could hear the underlying regret in Zayn’s voice every night for the past four months while he read Shelly a good night story, how he sounded sad or maybe homesick. Harry thought – hoped – that maybe Zayn would come back today with heavy luggage and an apology written on a napkin, because Zayn’s never been good with declarative speeches – he always forgot what he wanted to say. Harry had thought the prince comes back to the princess in the end.

But no matter how good Harry is at fantasizing, how stuck in his head he can be or just how delusional he is, he never saw it coming. The light backpack, the anger in Zayn’s voice, the apology that never came. And for how excellent as Harry is as seeing every possible outcome coming, the one thing he _really_ didn’t expect, the thing that sends his heart to a sudden stop and adrenaline straight to his brain is his bedroom door creaking open with a soft knock.

“Hey?”

“Jesus _fuck_! Are you _insane_?” Harry says shakily, out of breath as he clutches at his chest to check if his heart is still beating. “What the _actual_ fuck, Zayn?”

“I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

“Oh, no, of course not, you just gave me a heart attack. No biggie.”

“I’m sorry, I tried calling, but you didn’t answer,” Zayn whispers the last part, as he steps fully into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.

“Of course I didn’t answer, it’s the middle of the night.”

“Well I didn’t want to wake Shelly, so I thought I’d come check if you’re awake.”

“What, and you didn’t think about turning on a light or something? Really, Zayn.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Harry groans and falls back into bed. He needs to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths if he ever wants his heartbeat to go back to normal. He tries to focus on his happy thoughts, which mostly consist of the ones where he isn’t frightened half to death by a surprisingly stealthy Zayn.

“Wait,” Harry says as his eyes open with a pop, sitting up again and seeing that Zayn hasn’t moved a muscle. “What are you even doing here?”

“I –” Zayn starts to say, but he gets stuck there, on that one pronoun, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He looks as comfortable as one too. “I, um, I–”

Harry almost says he should’ve written it down, that Zayn knows how he tends to forget his words when he’s put on a spot like this. Not that Harry knows why Zayn feels like that, standing in the middle of Harry’s room with socketed feet and his eyes open wide, half expecting for Harry to throw him out probably. But if Zayn snuck into the house in the middle of the night, Harry rationalizes with himself that he must have something important to say. Something Harry hasn’t heard yet probably, something that isn’t a continuation of their fight. So Harry sits there patiently with his hands in his lap, trying not to yawn too often.

It takes another second or two before Zayn is clearing his throat and taking a big gulp of air, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did, for leaving you alone with Shelly, for leaving _Shelly_. I shouldn’t have done that, I know and I’m so sorry,” all in one breath.

“So you broke into my house to apologize?” Harry asks, wondering if it only sounds crazy to his ears.

“Well, technically, I still have a key, so I didn’t need to break in.”

Harry narrows his eyes, but he nods, excepting it. Next, Harry thinks, he should accept Zayn’s apology. “But you _are_ apologizing?”

“Yes,” Zayn takes another step forward. “I’m apologizing for all of it.”

“And why should that change anything?” Harry asks, because an apology doesn’t do him any good. Saying sorry doesn’t just erase the fact that Zayn left so easily, like Harry never meant anything, as if he wasn’t supposed to be Shelly’s guardian, not another person she has to lose. Even as heartfelt as Zayn’s words are, they don’t do anyone any good.

“Because I want to stay,” Zayn says, taking another step forward until he’s standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at Harry with clear eyes and a clearer determination. “I didn’t want to leave, I really didn’t, but when you found out about the job, you just got so mad at me for thinking about it, when I would have never taken it, I really wouldn’t have.”

“So why did you?”

“Because you said I was off the hook. And I’m not blaming you,” Zayn rushes to say. “Because I shouldn’t have given in like that, but to hear you say that _this_ ,” Zayn waves his arms around them, “was just a _hook_ , like I didn’t want to be here… I just thought, if you see it that way, see _me_ in that way, then it must be true, right?”

Harry can feel how his eyebrows are pulling together, shaping a deep _V_ in the middle of his forehead in confusion. He never thought about it like that, as if his words had any power over the determined and stubborn Zayn he knew and kind of loved. Harry didn’t think he had that kind of power over anyone.

“Zayn…”

“No, look. It’s my fault. I should’ve fought for what I wanted. And I wanted to stay. I want the plan I had, with Shelly and with you. I want to stay.” Zayn’s words are clear, still down to a whisper, but loud enough for Harry’s heart to start beating erratically again, picking up with each syllable that falls past Zayn’s lips.

A second passes and Harry wonders if he should think this over. There are more than a million reasons going through his head why he should throw Zayn out. There are a million versions of how Harry could throw Zayn out and, less than a half are done without kicking and screaming. But, there’s only a handful of those, where Zayn gets to stay and even less than that are ones in which both of them are happy.

Harry picks up the sheet pooling around his lap and hoists it up higher to his chest just so that he has something to do with his hands when he asks, “And you wouldn’t leave again?” with a too hopeful lilt to his voice.

And Zayn’s shaking his head before Harry can even finish speaking. “God, no. I would never leave, not even if you want me to years down the road.”

“Years?” Harry brings his eyes up so that he can look at Zayn’s when he says, “Years,” with a solid nod.

“What if I get on your nerves? What if you start hating me? Because I can get pretty annoying sometimes.”

Zayn chuckles. “I don’t care if you’re the most annoying person on the planet, I’d still stay. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“Okay, but what if I make it my life’s mission?”

“You want to dedicate your life to annoying me?” Zayn says with a smirk as he comes to knee on the bed right in front of Harry. There’s a look in his eyes, the mischievous one with a mirthful glint that always could make Harry nervous, because he never knew what to expect. This time though, Harry is less nervous and more impatient, because Zayn is right there, leaning towards Harry so they’re a breath of air apart when he says, “If it means we get to stay together, then I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Harry whispers, as if Zayn’s passed a crucial test, when really, Harry just wanted to have the last word before he closed the distance between them.

They kiss like they’re starving for it. Harry doesn’t know if it was like this before, but he can feel the kiss down to his toes, the way Zayn twists his tongue and bites at his lip all at once, as if he can’t decide what to do first. But it isn’t the same, because when Zayn breaks away to take a breath, he whispers, “I love you,” onto Harry’s lips, like it’s a secret or a wish, one of those things he’s supposed to keep to himself. But Zayn doesn’t and neither does Harry, because as he pecks Zayn once, twice, the words, “I love you,” slip past his lips and onto Zayn’s, like a promise or a vow, something that binds them together – hopefully, for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

—————

“It was such a big surprise,” Jess gushes at baby Toby in her arms.

“The biggest,” Ben says with a huff. He’s got Nancy and Ben Junior sitting on each thigh, and for a three and a five year old, they’re surprisingly well behaved.

But Jess must not pick up on Ben’s tone, because she says, “Yeah,” with a dreamy voice and the kind of dreamy eyes that shine with joy, probably thanking someone for another healthy son.

“How many more are you planning on having?”

“Nick,” Ben drawls and then glares when Jess turns to him and says, “I don’t know. Babe?”

“Oh, I think five is the magic number.” It’s Gavin that pipes up this time, and everyone knows it’s because Amanda isn’t around to hear him. “What do you say, Ben?”

“Can we please stop talking about my future children? I thought this was a party?” Ben sounds desperate, but then who wouldn’t be when presented with the idea of more kids than you have available hands.

“Calm down, Mr. Grumpy.”

“Yeah Ben, chill.”

“Nick, I swear to god–”

“Can you please not fight on Shelly’s birthday?”

It’s become a bit of a running joke in the Neighborhood Watch that, even if they’ve all known each other for a year and have been together on every single one of either theirs, or their kid’s birthdays – which is a lot of birthdays – the rest of the Watch is still afraid of Zayn. Ben says he has a healthy amount of respect for him and Nick likes to says it’s not fear he feels for Zayn’s face, but Nick would be lying if he said he didn’t whimper pathetically when he heard Zayn growl at their group.

Really, it’s Harry’s joke, because he likes randomly announcing how safe he feels living with the bad boy of the neighborhood and having him all to himself. He even called Zayn his protector for a month, when Amanda came up to Zayn and asked if he could possibly scowl a little less when the kids are around. _They’re just impressionable at this age, you know?_

It’s about Harry getting to pretend like he needs saving and Zayn being able to avoid some of those birthdays, because apparently, some parents are worried he might be a safety hazard. Zayn doesn’t even want to know what that means.

“Honestly guys, not today,” he says with an even and calm voice, instead of the serious deadpan Harry told him to avoid with the Watch.

“Sorry Zayn.”

“We’ll be quiet.”

Zayn snorts. “Just keep it down,” he says, shaking his head. All of them are absolutely ridiculous and Zayn would never find himself in their company if they didn’t live right next to him and Harry. Or if they didn’t insist on pretty much inviting themselves over at least once a week. They’re all completely harmless though, Zayn knows that too, so all he can do when they keep looking at him like they’re ready to hear his orders is smile as best as he can.

He puts his hand on his hip as he leans against the doorway to the living room, content with listening to their chatter for a while, because it beats having to smoke in front of the house and away from the kids running around the backyard. The things he does for Harry… The things Zayn would do for Harry are infinite, Zayn’s found. He’d take a month off work to get his priorities straight, to show Harry that he meant it when he said he’d stay and that their family always comes first. He’d dote on Shelly and Harry – which Zayn doesn’t think will end any time soon – because Zayn doesn’t know how to use his words to show them he loves them. Zayn’s never been good with words and speeches.

Zayn’s learned his lesson. Now he knows that he can’t just runaway when he’s scared or because someone doesn’t think he’s putting all his effort in. Zayn knows that just because he wants to be stubborn and put his foot down and not move an inch, he has a family now and other people that count on him, that love him even when he’s ready to smash his head through a wall.

Zayn sighs happily with the thought of having those two people all to himself again once the sun sets, when he looks around himself and sees the Watch is looking at him with expectant faces and wide eyes, like they’re actually waiting for him to do or say something else.

“Um…” he drawls, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Can we,” Nick points to the dining room behind Zayn, “go watch Shelly blow out the candles or…?”

“Oh, fudge!” Zayn was actually sent to bring the Watch to the dining room not to settle them down. “Yeah, yeah, come on.”

Everybody’s already singing the loud chorus of _Happy birthday dear Shelly,_ when the rest of them pile into the room. Zayn feels how his whole face sets aflame when Harry glares at him. But Harry’s got it, catching every minute of Shelly laughing and clapping along to her song with his phone in his hand.

When Harry leans over to the layered rainbow cake with _Shelly_ written on it in pink swirly letters to blow out the candle, Shelly giggles and pulls at Harry’s hair, chants, “More more more,” which means they’re gonna be lighting candles in the afternoon when everyone leaves, because today is her day, and Zayn and Harry will do everything she wants.

“Happy birthday, little lady,” Zayn says as he comes to stand behind her, giving the top of her head a loud kiss.

“You missed it.” Zayn feels a heavily body lean against his back before he hears his whine of, “You missed the beginning of the song.”

“You taped it, though, right?”

“Zayn Malik.” Harry completely detaches himself away from Zayn, so he can cross his arms and tap his boot two steps away from him. He looks adorable when he gets mad like this. “If you ever ask me again if I taped something because you missed it, you’ll have another thing coming.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zayn smirks. These days it’s hard for Harry to get too angry with Zayn and _vice versa_. Zayn keeps his usual remarks – which are hilarious – to himself and Harry doesn’t try to control every aspect of their lives. Zayn doesn’t spend a single night away from Harry or Shelly, and Harry never gets frustrated enough to blurt things out that he later regrets. So seeing Harry stand there, all tall and pissed off, is only making Zayn laugh. “You promise?”

“Zayn,” Harry pouts and whines. “Can you please take me seriously?” but in the end, he uncrosses his arms and practically throws himself at Zayn. “I’m mad at you.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” Zayn’s gotten into the habit of apologizing for the things he does wrong. He also tries to not do those wrong things. He’s a work in progress.

“Whatever.”

“Come on, don’t be pouty.”

“I’ll pout as much as I want.” Harry raises his chin to make a point and Zayn kisses him on the neck to make his own. “Or I’ll pout less if you keep doing that.”

Zayn gives his neck another kiss. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Harry’s hum sends a thrill to where Zayn has his lips against his neck.

“Hey, you two! Can you keep your hands to yourselves, please? This is a family gathering.”

Zayn gives Harry a wet raspberry right below his ear and leans back over Shelly, happy to see her face is covered in cake. He takes a small piece from her plate and smudges it against Harry’s nose.

They’re both works in progress. It wasn’t easy for them when Zayn came back to the house, jobless and with his tail between his legs. Harry had said he forgave him, that it was a mistake they should both just forget about, but Zayn was determined to show Harry – and Shelly – that he never wanted to leave in the first place. If it’s with a breakfast, a road trip, flowers or a spontaneous quick kiss to one round and one sharp cheek, Zayn’s been trying to show he loves both of them more than he could ever say.

That’s why he shouts back, “Hey Nick? Shut up!” because he’ll kiss Harry however much he wants in their house.

—————

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think!  
> [Tumblr](http://itsallaboutzarry.tumblr.com/)


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